


like a melody in my head

by sarcasticfluentry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Marching Band AU, Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfluentry/pseuds/sarcasticfluentry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A college marching band AU in which Harry is just trying to get through his first semester of college while pining over the hot drum major, Louis is trying to ignore his feelings for a certain curly-haired freshman, Zayn is trying to become less guarded, Liam is trying to be patient, and Niall is trying to make his dad proud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is a college marching band AU set at an imaginary school called Lincoln University in an imaginary suburb of Chicago called Brighton. I didn’t want to make direct references to any real universities or colleges although I may use their names in passing, so this school is part of the imaginary “Presidential League,” which comprises twelve schools based in the midwest region of the United States. Any schools that are heavily referenced in this story are fictional, and any similarities to real-life universities and locations are entirely coincidental.
> 
> “Band camp” is a period of time during which members of high school and college marching band go through training to learn how to march on American football fields during halftime. Harry plays mellophone in this story, which is the marching version of a French horn. The sousaphone is the marching version of a tuba. All other instruments should be self-explanatory.
> 
> This is a work in progress, one that I’ll attempt to update once a week or once every two weeks. Any terms familiar to American college students but unfamiliar to anyone else will also be explained as they come up in the fic. This fic will follow Harry’s POV through his first semester of college. 
> 
> Title is taken from "Replay" by Iyaz.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is an introduction of sorts, one that was meant to be only a small fraction of the first week but that became longer than I thought due to all the worldbuilding I had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln University is a private college and as such has a smaller student body to pull marching band members from and AS SUCH, TO GET AS BIG A BAND AS POSSIBLE, DOESNT REQUIRE ITS MEMBERS TO AUDITION. The rigorous training quickly catches all new members up to speed and they're soon able to take part in the flashy formations the band is known for.

It’s his first day of band camp, and Harry Styles has never been so terrified in his life.

Making friends has always come pretty naturally to him, but he can’t remember a time when he knew literally no one - when he had to start completely from scratch like he’s doing right now, wandering down the hallways of the music building trying to find where the Lincoln University Marching Tigers registration is being held.

“Hey, Jaymi! How was your summer?” the red-headed boy walking in front of Harry asks a passing boy.

“Pretty good, Ed. You?”

“I have stories for you,” Ed calls behind him as they turn a corner.

“Can’t wait!” Jaymi calls over his shoulder.

Harry supposes he could have followed the numerous signs for “LUMT Registration THIS WAY” taped to the walls, but this boy - Ed - seemed to know where he was going, so Harry’d somewhat latched onto him while Gemma and his mom were parking the car.

Soon, they reach a line of students milling around, which Harry assumes is the line for registration. Ed leans against the wall and pulls out his phone, and Harry nervously does the same.

“You’re a freshman, right?”

Harry looks up. Apparently, Ed was addressing him, because the other boy is looking at him with a bit of an indulgent expression on his face. “Yeah, I - yeah.”

Ed laughs. “I can kinda tell, man. You look awful nervous. I’m Ed.”

“Harry,” Harry says, taking Ed’s hand when the other boy offers it.

“What do you play?” asks Ed.

“Mellophone. You?”

“Trombone. Mellophone, then - have you met Liam yet?”

“No, I haven’t met anyone else here yet,” Harry says, knowing that Ed’s referring to his section leader, Liam Payne. Harry got several emails from Liam over the summer about signing up for marching band and prepping for band camp, and Liam recently friended him on Facebook. “I think some of the other band freshmen were trying to organize meet-ups over the summer in Chicago, but it wasn’t like I could fly halfway across the country to go to them.”

“You’re not from around here, then?” Ed asks as the line inches forward. “Seems like more and more people are local at Lincoln, these days.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m from Portland.”

“Oh, nice! I’m from LA,” Ed says, smiling. “Not often I meet someone else willing to leave the west coast for the bleak and boring Midwest.”

“Chicago doesn’t count as the Midwest and you know it,” a girl standing in front of them says. “It’s its own place.”

“It’s all the same to me, Jesy,” Ed laughs. He leans over to give her a hug. “You lived here over the summer, right? How was that?”

Harry listens and fiddles around on his phone as Jesy and Ed catch up, the line continuing to creep forward as they get closer and closer to the registration room. A couple of other students have their parents with them in line, people who Harry assumes are freshmen like himself. Eventually, the line moves forward enough that Harry can step into the registration room itself as he continues to wait, and he looks around to take in his surroundings, entirely overwhelmed by all the new faces.

 _“There_ you are,” Harry’s mom says, tapping him on the shoulder. “I think we got lost about five times trying to find you.”

“What _is_ all this stuff?” asks Gemma, gazing around the room.

“Band stuff, I dunno,” says Harry, trying to keep cool in front of all the people who are probably judging his every move.

Gemma pinches his arm until he cracks a smile. “You’re a huge nerd, Harry, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Can someone tell Leigh or Louis that we’re out of small-sized spats?” a student wearing a gold LUMT shirt asks frantically.

“On it,” another one says, scurrying past Harry and the rest of the line before hurrying down the hallway.

Harry notices that Ed is no longer in front of him a second before someone else calls out, “Next in line!”

Gemma gives him a small shove just as he starts to move, meaning that Harry ends up trip-stumbling over to the girl who called him.

“Last name?” the girl asks.

“Styles.”

She rummages through some thick manila envelopes before finally pulling one out. “Harry, right?”

Harry nods.

“Great. Okay, so you’re going to be in… looks like Allen 229 until you move into your regular housing, and your key’s inside the envelope. There’s a map of the campus in there, the LUMT official handbook, the band roster, a few songs, and the rehearsal schedule for the next two weeks. Any questions?”

“Is there parking in front of the dorm?” Harry’s mom asks.

The girl nods. “Yeah, there’s a pretty big lot that you can use to move stuff in today.”

“Great, thanks,” Anne says.

“If you don’t have any more questions, you can move on to making a nametag and buying your accessories,” the girl says. “Next in line, please!”

Harry shuffles dutifully to his right, Anne and Gemma trailing after him. He makes a nametag and then gets his music folder, “Mellophone 2” printed across the top in large block letters, at the next station. At the next station, he gets his marching accessories - large spats, large gloves, the regulation LUMT baseball cap, and a navy t-shirt to wear under his uniform - heaped into his hands, and at the next station he receives a flip folder to organize his music in.

“Now we just need to take your picture for the director’s handbook,” the student at the last station tells Harry.

“Let me hold your things, dear,” Harry’s mom tuts, taking all the new items and leaving Harry to fix his hair as he tries to will down the blush of embarrassment that’s undoubtedly made its way onto his face.

Harry poses against the white backdrop and tries to keep his smile normal as he gets his picture taken. Jesus, he had no idea there was going to be this much involved in registration. Then again, he’s never marched before in his life, so maybe this is par for the course and Harry’s just clueless.

“Alright, you’re all set!” the girl behind the camera says after she takes a couple of pictures. “Remember to report to the rehearsal hall at one o’clock sharp, and bring all your new music with you. See you in two hours!”

“Thanks,” Harry says, fiddling with his hair again and trying to remember all the things he has to do.

He walks down the hallway with his sister and his mom, the two of them chattering away excitedly about moving Harry into his temporary housing and helping him get his room organized; meanwhile, poor Harry’s just trying to remember all the things he has to do, and what to bring where when. Lincoln University has one of the most famous marching bands in the Presidential League, and he’s really excited to be here, but he has to admit that he’s also nervous as all hell.

xxx

After Gemma and his mom help Harry move all of his stuff into his tiny, temporary single that he’ll be staying in until all regular housing opens up for the school year, they have a bit of a tearful goodbye in the quad outside. Well - it’s tearful in the sense that Gemma teases them both about it while Harry and his mom try to pretend they aren’t both crying while they hug each other fiercely. Harry had been excited to finally move halfway across the country - that is, until today, when his mom actually has to _leave_ him here for an extend period of time, a place where he knows absolutely no one except Liam Payne the section leader and Ed the trombone player.

“I love you, sweetie,” Anne says, running her fingers through his hair. “They’re going to love you here, I just know it. Five minutes around you and they’ll know how special you are.”

“Mom,” Harry complains, fighting back tears. “S-stop it.”

“I know, I know, I’m done,” his mum insists.

“Mom, if we stay any longer we’re going to miss our flight back,” Gemma points out, winking at Harry. Now that Harry’s started freshman year at Lincoln and Gemma’s about to enter her senior year at Stanford, Anne’s going to be an empty-nester, and both siblings have been kind of curiously apprehensive over how she’s going to deal with it.

“I _know,_ Gemma, I’m trying,” Anne mumbles, squeezing Harry even tighter. Finally, she lets go, but not without several kisses to his nose and cheeks. Harry revels in them more than he’d like to admit. “Alright, honey. You have everything, yes?”

“Think so,” Harry manages.

“Even if he doesn’t, you’ll be back in two weeks to bring the rest of his stuff, Mom,” Gemma reminds her.

“You be good,” Anne says, her lower lip trembling as Gemma begins to lead her out of the courtyard. “And call me tomorrow night, please?”

“Of course.”

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Harry chokes out, clenching his hands in fists at his sides so he doesn’t reach out and hug her again. “Bye, Gem.”

“I miss you already,” his sister says, giving him a little wave as she leads their mother to the car. “Don’t get up to too much trouble, alright?”

Harry snorts, rubbing at his eyes to get the tears out. “No promises.”

xxx

Harry ventures into downtown Brighton for lunch around 12:15. It’s strange - not because he’s choosing to eat by himself, but because he literally doesn’t know anyone else who he would eat with. After a quick bite at Panera, he checks the time and decides he’d better head over to the rehearsal building, which is called “Ryan Hall” and marked in red on his map of campus.

First, though, he has to return to temporary housing and grab his mellophone and music, so he walks back to the dorm as he checks out coffee shops and grocery stores, trying to remember where everything is.

In the dorm, Harry’s just stuffing the last of his things into a backpack when he hears a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls tentatively.

“Harry?” a boy asks, opening the door and poking his head through. “Oh, good, you’re still here! I was hoping I’d get to meet you before rehearsals started.”

Harry knows who this is - he recognizes him from Facebook. It’s Liam.

“Liam, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Liam says, stepping fully into the room. “Good to meet you, Harry.”

He extends a hand and Harry shakes it, almost wincing from his firm grip. Liam is a bit bulkier than his profile pictures have suggested, but maybe it’s because he’s wearing a tank that shows off his arms. Other than that, he’s easy to recognize from Facebook, with kind brown eyes and close-cropped hair. He’s very clean-cut, the picture of self-assured college student in the gold LUMT marching t-shirt, gym shorts, and a snapback.

“You’re a sophomore, right?” asks Harry.

“Yeah, I’ve only got a year under my belt,” Liam says, setting his mellophone case down and leaning against the wall. “But Higgins apparently thought I was good enough at marching to make me a section leader. Hopefully you’ll agree.”

Harry snorts. “Dude, I’ve never marched before in my life, so I’m pretty sure anything you say goes in terms of instruction.”

“My favorite kind of freshman,” says Liam with a grin. “We should get going, though, well at least I should. Leadership’s supposed to get there ten minutes early.”

“I don’t really know anyone else yet, so,” Harry shrugs, picking up his mellophone case and wincing at how heavy it is.

Liam eyes him sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.”

On the way to Ryan Hall, Harry learns that Liam is from the outskirts of Davenport, Iowa, that he’s a Mechanical Engineering major but he’s thinking of switching to Materials Science, and that he has one sister, Ruth.

“What about you, have any siblings?” Liam asks as he pushes open the door to the building.

“I have one sister too, her name’s Gemma,” answers Harry, following him inside.

The stifling late-summer heat is all but extinguished by the air conditioning that blasts the two of them as they walk down the hallway. Harry can start to hear the muffled sounds of people warming up on their instruments.

“I’m so excited for you to meet everyone, I think they’ll really like you,” Liam says.

“That’s good, because I’m definitely in the market for friends,” Harry jokes. “Although I did do random roommate selection for the school year and managed to get another freshman in band, so I’m excited to meet him too.”

“What does he play?”

“Sousaphone. His name’s Niall.”

“I’ll see if I can get JJ to introduce you,” says Liam. “He’s one of the sousa section leaders, although I’m sure you’ll learn everyone’s names soon enough.”

Harry isn’t so sure, because this seems like a _lot_ of people to meet all at once, but he keeps that part to himself.

“Anyway, this is room 49,” Liam says, pushing open another door. “This is where we have all our indoor rehearsals.”

A wall of sound slaps Harry in the face, a cacophony of different instruments playing different songs and in different keys. It looks like half the band’s here already, warming up and testing out their instruments. Harry should probably test out his university-issued mellophone, too, just to make sure it plays okay. He’d tried out a few over the summer just to get a feel for how they were different than a French horn, but by now Harry thinks he’s got a pretty good handle on how to play it. Even so, he’s lucky that Lincoln is one of the few universities in the Presidential League that doesn’t require its marching band members to audition, because he almost certainly wouldn’t have made it in at the likes of Madison or Adams.

“Mellos sit over here,” Liam continues, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry follows his section leader like a lost duckling, threading through rows of chairs and curious new faces until finally sitting down in the fourth row of seats, near the left side.

“Hey, Liam,” a girl with a mellophone says.

“Hey, Cher,” Liam greets her, giving her a hug. “This is Harry, he’s one of the freshmen. Harry, this is Cher, she’s the only other sophomore besides me.”

“Hi,” Harry says, giving her a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Cher exclaims. “I was just talking to Jade here, she’s one of the other freshman.”

Harry and Liam both exchange greetings with Jade.

“Where’s Matt?” Liam asks Cher as they take their instruments out.

“Who knows,” Cher snorts. “He was never on time last year, either, but now that he’s a senior he’s barely gonna show up to stuff.”

“And Higgins is probably going to yell at _me_ about it,” Liam grumbles. “Amazing.”

“No, he’ll probably yell at Aiden about it.”

“Who’s Aiden?” Jade asks.

“Aiden’s the other section leader. He’s a senior,” Cher says.

“And he’s probably the only one of us with any hope of corralling Matt, who’s our resident senior-who-doesn’t-give-a-shit.”

“Hey, every section has one,” a new voice behind Harry says. Seconds later, the newcomer is plopping down in the seat next to Harry. “Hey, how’s everyone doing, I’m Matt. What’s your name?”

“Harry,” says Harry, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” says Matt. “Welcome to the worst two weeks of your life.”

 _“Matt,”_ Liam hisses.

“I’m only joking,” Matt laughs. “Why do you guys think I’m still here if I don’t love it? Except for high-step, of course.”

“Fucking high-step,” says Cher, shuddering.

“What’s high-step?” asks Harry.

Liam laughs. “You’ll find out tomorrow, bro. We have to learn fundamentals first.”

“And play scales for about eight hours straight,” Cher adds.

 _God,_ how is everybody here so comfortable with everything? Harry feels like he’s out of place, like it’s only going to take a few hours for everybody else to realize that he doesn’t belong here. He wonders when the feeling is going to go away - if it’s _ever_ going to go away.

Five minutes later, Harry’s met the rest of the people in his section - Aiden, the other section leader, a senior from San Francisco; George, another freshman, from Denver; Camila, a junior from Miami; Ant, a junior from Chicago; and Cameron, a junior from Los Angeles. Apparently they have a relatively small section this year compared to other years, but Harry doesn’t exactly mind - it’s fewer names to learn, after all, and a higher chance that people will remember his.

At one o’clock exactly, a man who looks to be in his mid- to late thirties steps onto the podium at the front of the room. Instantly, the chatter in the room dies down, and Harry clutches his mellophone apprehensively.

“Wow, that was fast,” the man comments at the silence in the room. “Hopefully that’s a good omen for this year.”

Quiet laughter echoes around the room.

“Welcome to band camp,” he continues. “Newcomers, welcome to Lincoln University and to the Marching Tigers; formers, welcome back. I hope you all had a good summer. My name is Dr. Paul Higgins, and this is my fifth year conducting the Marching Tigers.”

The students clap excitedly, and Harry notices that they seem to like the director, however much they roll their eyes when they talk about him.

“I went to Indiana University for undergrad, and then I got my masters and doctoral degrees in conducting right here at Lincoln,” Dr. Higgins continues. More cheering. “I’m an alum of this very band, and I’m really passionate about seeing this program do well. You’ll meet the director of all Lincoln University bands in a few days, Dr. Cowell, but I do have some other people that I’d like to introduce before we get started. First, we have our two marching grads, who are the most involved a conducting graduate student can be with the program. They’ll be with us at every rehearsal throughout the semester. I’d like to introduce Greg James, who was with us last year as a regular grad student. He’s in the second year of his masters degree in conducting.”

A tall, lanky man stands up and waves, grinning as the students cheer for him. He has a friendly face and he seems to be well-liked.

“As for our other marching grad, you might’ve thought you saw the last of him when he graduated from Lincoln in the spring with his undergraduate degree in music education and trumpet performance, but Nick Grimshaw is back as a first-year masters student.”

The students cheer again, particularly the trumpet players, as a man with hair gelled into a steep swoop in the front stands up and waves. Harry guesses Nick used to play trumpet, then.

“As for our other grads, we’ll have Ben Winston helping out the sousaphones during band camp-” a man with a thick beard stands up and waves- “Lou Teasdale working with the flutes-” a thin woman with bleach-blonde hair stands up and smiles- “Caroline Watson with the clarinets and saxophones-” a pretty woman with dark skin and happy eyes stands up- “and James Corden with the trombones.”

The trombones cheer as a portly man with dark red hair and some scruff stands up and salutes them.

“As for Greg and Nick, they’ll be making sure all sections are on track with what they need to be doing, but during music sectionals Greg will be helping out the mellophones and Nick will work with the trumpets.”

Harry’s glad that they get Greg - he has a good feeling about the man even though he hasn’t met him yet.

“If you haven’t noticed by now, the Marching Tigers have somewhat of a hierarchy,” Dr. Higgins continues. “At the very top is Dr. Cowell, then myself, then Nick and Greg, then the rest of our grads. In a moment I’ll have our section leaders introduce themselves to you one by one, but before we do that I’d like to introduce our two drum majors, who are the people our section leaders effectively report to.

“Formers will remember Leigh-Anne Pinnock from last year,” says Dr. Higgins, gesturing as a pretty black girl with cornrows stands up and waves from the front of the room next to the podium. The students clap and Dr. Higgins smiles. “This is her second year as drum major. She’s a senior this year, majoring in biology.”

Leigh-Anne sits back down as Dr. Higgins continues, “And our newest drum major is a junior majoring in theatre and education. He knows he has some big shoes to fill but I’m very excited about the work he’s going to do this year - let’s have some applause for Louis Tomlinson.”

There are more whoops and shouts from the trumpets - another former trumpet, probably - as a boy stands up on the other side of the podium. Harry’s eyes slide over to him and-

Oh, god.

He’s _gorgeous._ Good lord. The boy - Louis - has a really unique facial structure unlike any Harry’s ever seen before - and good thing, too, because if other people looked like that Harry wouldn’t be able to function normally in society. Louis’s eyes are mischievous and quick but still kind, his lips twisted into a nervous little smirk. He has a strong jawline and cheekbones that are so obscene Harry finds himself blushing and covering his lap with the damn mellophone.

Then Louis is sitting back down, but not before Harry gets an eyeful of his thick, toned biceps thanks to the fact that the other boy has cut the sleeves off of his black t-shirt to show them off. Harry’s eyes follow him and he cranes in his seat a little, trying to covertly to look his fill while the section leaders start to introduce themselves. He gets more glimpses of Louis, of his fluffy, soft-looking brown hair and the golden glow of his skin - Harry’s never been this embarrassing after first seeing someone like this but he can’t _help_ it, he’s entranced. In fact, he’s so fucking oblivious that he misses the large group of section leaders that introduce themselves before Liam, and he only notices Liam stand up to introduce himself because he’s sitting _right fucking next to him._

“Hi everyone, I’m Liam,” Liam says, startling Harry out of his trance as he tries to pretend he wasn’t _very obviously_ just staring at the drum major. “I’m a sophomore majoring in MechE and I’ll do drill for the mellos.”

Liam sits back down and Harry tries to pay attention as the remaining section leaders give introductions.

“Hi, I’m Rebecca, and I’m a senior voice performance major. I do music for the trombones.”

“I’m Stan, I’m a junior, and I’m majoring in math. Unless it finally breaks me this year. And I’ll be doing drill for the trombones.”

“I’m Andy, I’m a junior econ major, and I’m drill section leader for the sousas.”

Harry tries to keep track of names matched to faces, but it’s getting increasingly difficult even after only three people.

“My name’s JJ, I’m a senior finishing my major in political science, and I do music for the sousas.”

“And our drumline has been here for a week already,” Dr. Higgins cuts in, motioning to the back of the room. Harry and the rest of the students turn in their seats to look - the drumline is quite intimidating, actually, from the way they’re slouched confidently in their seats, but Harry’s friends who did marching band in high school have already told him that that’s normal. “I’ve gotten to hear what they’re working on several times and I’m very, very excited about the line this year. We have an excellent grad student working with them, Cal Aurand, and our drum captain this year is - well, actually, I’ll let him introduce himself.”

A boy with dark hair and an intimidatingly beautiful face looks around, seemingly coming alive as he stands up. “Oh, well, uh. I’m Zayn, I’m a junior, and I’m majoring in English. I’m at center snare, and - well, yeah, like he said, I’m drum captain.”

He gives a curt little nod and sits back down, and good _god_ does Harry feel young and naive. Maybe it’s because all the formers have at least a year of college under their belts, maybe it’s because they all know each other already, but it also might be because the drum captain is _covered_ in tattoos - there are probably even more under his black tank top - and looks like he wouldn’t be afraid to start a fight if you looked at him the wrong way. Jesus.

Harry looks back at Liam, trying to gauge a reaction to see how the rest of the band views Zayn, but Liam’s just looking back at the drumline with a fond little smile on his face. Huh.

“Later in the day, we’ll get a chance to hear the cadences they’ve been preparing since last Sunday, but right now we’re going to spend a few hours warming up and getting a sense of how we blend together as an ensemble,” Dr. Higgins says. “Let’s play a unison F concert, to start.”

xxx

After several grueling hours of playing various scales and warm-up exercises, during which Harry _really_ starts to wish he’d spent more of August practicing just to build up his playing endurance, it’s finally time for dinner. The band walks as a group to their designated dining hall, which is currently the only one open on campus.

“Yeah, Emory’s the only one open until the rest of the students get here,” Liam confirms as they walk, lugging their mellophones along. Harry’s noticed that each section of the band seems to stick tightly together, and he wonders if that’s only because they’re trying to get the freshman integrated now or if that will persist throughout the whole year. He tries to see if he can spot Louis, but there are too many unfamiliar faces in the crowd and Harry can't really keep track of anyone but his own section.

Harry eats dinner with the mellos, learning more about Liam, Matt, Camila, Aiden, Cher, Cameron, Jade, and George as he eats a burger and fries. He’s kind of upset about how gross the dining hall fruit looked, because fruit is a huge part of Harry’s diet but even _he_ doesn’t like bananas enough to go for ones that are completely brown verging on black. Maybe he’ll have to venture out to the local grocery store and buy some fruit tonight.

While they’re in line for seconds, Liam introduces Harry to the boy who’s going to be his roommate for the year, a sousaphone player named Niall. He’s easy to spot because he’s the only one of the sousas who has blond hair, which Harry knew from Facebook. They don’t get to have a particularly long conversation, but Niall seems really chill and nice from what Harry can gather, and they promise to talk more tomorrow during lunch.

Back at the mellophone table, Harry also learns that George has never marched before, either, which is pretty comforting; at least Harry will have someone else who can empathize with him as they both struggle to step up to the learning curve. He can’t ever imagine himself being as well-versed and confident as Liam, who’s currently talking with Zayn by the stir-fry station. Zayn doesn’t seem as intimidating when he’s talking with Liam instead of slouched cockily in a chair in the back of the rehearsal hall.

“Alright,” Aiden says five minutes later, checking his watch one final time, “we should probably head up to the field in the next couple of minutes for night rehearsal. If anyone needs to use the bathroom, now’s the time to do it, and be sure to fill your water bottles up too.”

“Yeah, stay hydrated,” Liam adds, standing up and picking up his dirty dishes.

Cher snorts. “Yeah, alright, frat-star.”

“Oh, are you in a fraternity?” George asks Liam as they make their way over to the dish rack.

“Yeah, Sigma Mu,” says Liam.

“Also known as S&M,” Ant puts in, elbowing Liam in the side as he grins.

Liam rolls his eyes as he drops his dirty dishes off on the conveyor belt. “Is that joke _ever_ going to get old for you?”

“Not a chance,” says Matt, doing the same. “Especially not after Jaymi told me about that one time he walked in on you and-”

“Shut _up,”_ Liam hisses as Ant cackles. “That was _one time-”_

“Hey, no shaming here,” says Matt, holding up his hands. Harry snorts. “No one’s judging you for liking to be handcuffed, dude.”

The rest of the mellos burst out laughing, Harry included, as Liam fumes, “For fuck's sake there are _freshmen_ here, Matt.”

Matt laughs. “Hey, they’re all adults too, man. You guys don’t care, right?” he continues, addressing Jade, George, and Harry.

“No, handcuffs are great,” Harry says without thinking.

Matt whoops with delighted laughter and Aiden joins him as Harry’s cheeks flame in embarrassment as he realizes what he just said. “Holy shit, I didn’t realize the section was going to be this much fun this year,” says Matt.

He holds his hand out for a high five and Harry gives him one even though his face is still hot.

As they walk up to the practice field, George and Liam continue talking about Liam’s frat, and Harry guesses that that’s something George is interested in. As for Harry, he doesn’t really think fraternity life is for him, but he doesn’t have anything against people in frats - Liam definitely seems like the frat type, but he’s also a nice guy. So instead, Harry gets to know Jade a little better as they walk, learns that she’s hoping to transfer into the music school for vocal performance after she’s taken some private lessons and that she has a boyfriend from home who’s starting his freshman year at Boston University.

“What about you, any people from home you’re attached to?” Jade asks Harry as they settle down on the field and start to open their cases.

“Nah,” Harry replies. “I had a thing with a guy over the summer, but that was mostly… uh, it wasn’t really romantic or long-term, I guess.”

“Ah, okay,” says Jade. Harry watches her carefully for any signs of judgment; he’s heard that most cities aren’t as liberal as Portland so he’s decided to be on the lookout for people uncomfortable about the fact that Harry’s interested in guys, but Jade doesn’t bat an eye. “It’s probably smart not to start anything right before going off to college, yeah.”

“Oh, don’t get your mellos out, guys,” Liam says, sitting down next to them. “It’s just marching tonight, no instruments.”

Dr. Higgins has them organize themselves into a huge block - everyone has four steps between them front and back so they can spread out and stretch.

“Before we get started, the drum majors are going to lead us in stretches,” he calls into a megaphone. “Take this as seriously as you would anything else, because if you don’t stretch properly before every rehearsal your body’s going to be protesting about it for the rest of the week.”

“That’s real,” Harry hears Camila say behind him.

There’s an audible shuffling as someone turns on several loudspeakers placed at various points surrounding the field, a few squeaks of feedback, and then “Monster” by Kanye West starts playing over the loudspeakers. Harry reflexively looks around for disapproving adults ready to complain about the song choice, but then he remembers that they’re in _college_ now and that they can do what they want.

“All right Marching Tigers!” a new voice shouts over the megaphone. Harry cranes his neck and realizes with a start that it’s Louis, and - Jesus, he has nice legs, Harry hadn’t noticed that in the rehearsal hall. He’s wearing jorts, of all things. How does he still manage to make _jorts_ look good? “Are you ready to get stretched out?”

Some of the students cheer and a few wolf-whistle. Louis’s voice is teasing and raspy and it makes a shiver go up Harry’s spine.

“We’re gonna try to hit all the major muscle groups,” Leigh-Anne adds. “First up, reach up to the sky…”

Everyone does as she says, stretching their torsos out and going up onto their tip-toes.

“And then go down,” Louis finishes, bending over until he’s touching his toes.

Harry swallows, his throat dry, and follows suit as the rest of the students do the same. It’s going to be a miracle if he doesn’t pop a boner by the time this is all said and done.

“Back up,” Leigh-Anne calls into the megaphone, getting back up onto her tip-toes.

“...aaaand go back down,” Louis says after about ten seconds have passed. “It’s alright if you can’t touch your toes just yet. We have lots of days of band camp ahead of us, I promise you you’ll get there.”

“Now straighten back up and spread your legs just a little bit more than shoulder-width apart,” says Leigh-Anne.

 _God,_ this is going to be a long rehearsal, Harry thinks as he watches Louis spread his legs. He’d feel creepy except they’re all _supposed_ to be watching the drum majors to make sure they’re doing the stretches properly, but _still._ Louis doesn’t even know who Harry _is._ At least, not yet. Hopefully Harry won’t be a nobody in the band for long - that’s probably his worst fear.

“We’re going to stretch on either side and then down the middle,” Louis says, drawing Harry out of his thoughts. “First, bend over to your right…”

xxx

By the time rehearsal is over, Harry’s shoulders are sore and his head is spinning as he tries to remember all the new commands he’s just learned. He hadn’t realized how bad his posture was until he’d been required to stand at something called “attention” nearly all of practice, even when they broke into sections and reviewed what they’d learned.

“Shoulders back, chest out, chin up, feet together, hands at your sides centered on the seam of your pants,” Liam had barked, weaving in and out of their ranks as he checked them for good form. “George, chest out more. There you go. Jade, that looks great. Harry, make sure not to lock your knees. Bend them just a little bit.”

“Yeah, if it’s hot out and you end up fainting, that way you’ll relax into the ground instead of falling straight forward and breaking your nose,” Aiden had said from behind him as Harry followed instructions.

“People faint?” Jade had asked.

Liam had nodded as he walked back around to check Harry’s form. “Yeah, 80-plus degrees in a wool uniform doing high-step onto the field takes a toll on you. The first couple of games, we usually have at least one person faint, so if you’re gonna do it, do it the right way.”

Harry had shuddered; he still doesn’t know what high-step is, but he can definitely guess - and it’s starting to sound worse and worse.

“Alright, attention position looks good,” Liam had decided. “I’ll check your parade rest next, on my command.”

The practice had continued like that for an hour and a half, with the band learning how to turn in place, “mark time,” or march in place, form straight lines and dress to them, and bring their instruments up and down. It was fairly simple stuff, but extremely repetitive and surprisingly tiring on Harry’s muscles.

But now they’re done for the night, Dr. Higgins having dismissed them with a smile on his face and a promise to see them bright and early tomorrow at 9.

The mellophones are carefully putting away their instruments, Harry included, when Louis jogs over to them. Harry’s mouth goes dry and he looks down at his bag, rummaging around in it for nothing at all. God, he can already _feel_ a dumb crush forming and he hasn’t even spent a day with these people. What is _wrong_ with him?

“Li, babe, you want a ride?” Louis asks, skidding to a halt and cocking his head to the side. “It’s been a long day.”

He says it so sympathetically and warmly that Harry gets a twinge of jealousy in his stomach.

“Think I’m gonna walk with the section,” Liam says. “I don’t want the freshmen to resent me for driving back to Allen when they have to walk.”

Louis scoffs. “I think they’d completely understand.”

His eyes flicker over the section, appraising them, and Harry knows it’s coming but he’s still entirely unprepared for when Louis’s eyes meet his. They’re sharp and so, so overwhelmingly blue that Harry has to look away, blushing and mentally cursing at himself, but when he plucks up the courage to look at Louis again a second later he finds that the drum major is still staring at him, making his skin feel hot all over.

“Anyway,” says Louis, finally tearing his gaze away from Harry, “you planning on sleeping over tonight?”

Liam yawns. “Don’t think so, just ‘cause it’ll be a hassle getting back to the dorm tomorrow morning. I’m waking everyone up at seven.”

The rest of the section groans, but to Harry this information is eclipsed by the fact that Louis just asked Liam if he was _sleeping over._ Are they - is that a _thing?_ Harry’s extremely confused and more than a little jealous.

“Jesus,” says Louis. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at breakfast, then. Love you, man.”

“Love you too,” Liam calls after Louis as he jogs away.

Harry’s stomach churns with ridiculous, unfounded jealousy as he turns to watch Louis jog away, too.

“Is everyone ready to go?” Aiden asks. “We should walk back as a group. Well - mostly.”

“Yeah, you guys’ll be dropping me and Aiden off at our apartment on the way,” Matt says.

They start to walk back to the dorm, lugging their mellophones along in the dark as they walk.

Harry kind of wants to ask Liam if he and Louis are dating, but he isn’t sure how to go about it. Luckily, he gets his chance a minute later when a beat-up red mini van drives by with all the windows rolled down, its many passengers waving and shouting at Liam about how much they miss him already. Louis is in the driver’s seat, and Harry sees Zayn sitting shotgun, a lit cigarette in his hand that he’s dangling out the window.

Liam rolls his eyes. “God, they’re so embarrassing.”

“Hey, I was just wondering,” Harry starts carefully, walking a bit slower so he and Liam drop to the back of the group of mellophones, “you and - well, are you and Louis a… thing?”

Liam bursts into laughter. “A _thing_ – wait, d’you mean are me and Louis dating?”

He says it so incredulously that Harry is taken aback. Maybe Liam’s exclusively into girls and Harry just offended him with the mere _query_ that he might like guys, but Harry hopes that’s not the case because that would kind of make Liam an asshole. “Yeah…?”

Liam laughs again. “ _God_ , no. I – sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh - I guess I get how you could assume that, he’s really flirty just by nature. No, we’re not a thing, even though we’re both into dudes. I’m actually, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck a bit nervously and Harry grips his mellophone tighter. “I’m actually dating Zayn.”

It takes Harry a second to process what Liam’s just said. “Wait, _Zayn?_ The drum captain?”

“Yeah, Zayn the drum captain,” Liam says with a small smile.

“No offense, but I wouldn’t’ve guessed that,” says Harry. “Louis seemed more affectionate with you than Zayn was.”

Liam chuckles. “Zayn’s not exactly a PDA kind of guy. He’s not, uh, _out_ at home, so you might’ve also noticed we’re not in a relationship on Facebook.”

“You guys are a secret?”

“Not here at Lincoln,” says Liam, “but everywhere else, I guess. My family knows, and his mom knows. That’s about it.”

Harry still can’t quite wrap his head around it – Liam, the clean-cut frat boy, and Zayn, the tattooed smoker. Actually, it kind of sounds like the premise for a porno, but Harry’s going to keep that information to himself.

“So when Louis asked if you were sleeping over…”

Liam hits himself on the head in revelation. _“Oh,_ yeah, that must’ve sounded weird. He and Zayn live together, that’s why he asked. I slept over there the past two nights because leadership had to get here a few days before everyone else, and Zayn was already here for drumline camp.”

Harry nods, the jealous feeling in his stomach completely dissipated. He wishes it hadn’t been there at all in the first place because starting out college with a huge crush right off the bat seems like a bad move, but some things are completely out of his control.

“Is it – sorry, nevermind, that’s too personal of a question,” Harry says.

“No, it’s alright, shoot,” says Liam.

“No, seriously, it’s like - it’s kind of a rude question, I think.”

“Shh,” Liam shushes him. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Well – is it, um – is it difficult to date someone who’s not out? Sorry, it’s just – every guy I’ve dated has been out, and I can’t imagine having to keep something like that a secret from people.”

Liam shrugs. “Not here at school, because people know about us, even though sometimes I think it would be nice to, like, hold hands or something. The only time I’ve actually gotten upset from it is when his parents came up for dinner last spring and we had to act like we were just really good friends for his dad’s sake. God, that was so weird. But, like – yeah, it makes me a little upset sometimes, but it’s more important that he feels comfortable at home, you know?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, definitely. Where’s he from?”

“Chicago.”

“Oh, so around here.”

“Well – yeah, but he’s from the south side of the city, so. It’s a whole different atmosphere than Brighton,” says Liam. “Like, completely different.”

Something about the tone of Liam’s voice sounds a little off to Harry, but he doesn’t comment on it because it doesn’t sound like something Liam’s completely comfortable talking about. Instead, he changes course a bit – away from Zayn and relationships even though he’s dying to learn more about Louis – and says, “Do you get a lot of chances to go into the city during the school year? All the brochures said that Chicago’s just a quick train ride away.”

Liam snorts. “Not if you want to keep up with your homework. Maybe on weekends, but fall semester we have band stuff almost every weekend, so that’s out.”

“Oh,” says Harry, disappointed.

“But I do try to see the orchestra once or twice a semester. Louis and I saw the CSO play Mahler five in May, and that was _sick._ ”

xxx

When they get back to their dorm, it’s around 10 p.m. and Harry’s wondering if he should maybe try to get some sleep before Camila says, “Band crushes in my room at 10:30!”

Cher squeals and runs to her room to put her instrument away as the other upperclassmen follow suit. Meanwhile, the freshmen look at Liam in confusion.

“We always gossip about who we think’s cute in band after the first day of rehearsal,” Liam says with an eye roll. “I think it’s dumb, but apparently it’s tradition, so.”

“But we don’t, like, know anyone’s names yet,” George says. “The three of us, at least.”

“That’s alright,” says Liam. “You can describe them and the rest of us can probably figure out who it is from that. And it’s, like, super confidential, so you don’t have to worry about us embarrassing you tomorrow.”

Harry gulps.

“Which one’s Camila’s room?” asks Jade.

“204.”

Thirty minutes later, after he’s showered and changed into pajamas, Harry wanders into room 204 to discover that the rest of the section is already there, chowing down on snacks.

“Hey, man,” Ant says, waving around a bag of Fritos. “Want some?”

“Yeah, sure,” says Harry, sitting down next to him.

“So, now that we’re all here-” Camila starts.

“Except Matt and Aiden,” says Ant.

Camila rolls her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t even _want_ to know what poor freshman girls those two have their eyes on.”

“No, we should find out so we can warn them,” Cher points out.

Everyone laughs.

“Okay, I’ll start if no one else is going to,” Camila says after everyone else starts nervously eating snacks in an attempt to avoid getting asked who their band crushes are. “And as a reminder, these don’t have to be, like, actual crushes - just someone you saw today who you thought was cute. Although they _can_ be actual crushes, in which case _totally_ tell us.”

“Nope, made that mistake last year,” says Ant. “Don’t do it, guys.”

“Ant, _please,_ you ended up _dating_ your band crush because me and Camila teased you until you went up and talked to her!” Cher squeals.

“Who was it?” George asks.

“Jesy Nelson,” Camila answers as Ant starts to open his mouth. “The girl who plays bass drum. And they’re still together, which is proof that band relationships _can_ work out if you’re not stupid about it.”

“Is she the only girl on the line this year?” asks Cameron.

Liam shakes his head. “Nah, there’re two freshman cymbal players who are girls.”

“Shh, stop distracting us,” Camila hisses. “We’re going to do _crushes_ now, okay? I’ll start. There’s this new sousaphone player who I think’s really cute.”

Harry laughs delightedly. “The blond one?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“He’s my roommate,” says Harry. “Like, for the year. His name’s Niall.”

“Oh my god you _have_ to tell him,” Cher yells, even as Camila shrieks and starts throwing popcorn at her. “You have to tell him Camila wants to-”

Camila lunges at her, tackling her into Liam’s side and slapping a hand over her mouth, and the entire section dissolves into laughter as Liam tries and fails to extricate himself from the mess.

By the time the circle has worked its way around to Harry, almost everyone’s been teased relentlessly, good-natured though it is. When all eyes turn to him, Harry clams up, though, his face undoubtedly turning bright red as he brings his knees up to his chest.

“Uh oh, someone’s nervous,” says Ant, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Yeah, well I don’t have the security of dating someone, unlike most of you,” Harry grumbles.

Liam laughs. “C’mon, Harry, nothing leaves the room, promise.”

“Okay,” says Harry, psyching himself up. He can’t believe he’s about to tell all of these people when he doesn’t even want to admit it to _himself,_ but the fun and cozy atmosphere is lulling him into a false sense of security. “Okay, I, uh - I think Louis is kind of cute.”

Immediately after he says it, he buries his face in his hands, which is _definitely_ the wrong thing to do because everyone starts cooing at him and Jade squeals, “Aw, look, he can’t even look at us!”

When Harry looks up, his face still burning, Liam is grinning at him. “Is that why you asked me if Louis and I were a thing?”

“Uh,” Harry stammers, “I, uh - no, I was just-”

“Oh my god, _stop,_ this is so cute. I can’t,” says Cher.

“We’ll have to get you introduced tomorrow,” Cameron puts in.

“Oh god, no, please,” Harry pleads. “You guys can’t tell him, _please.”_

They all laugh. “We won’t tell him,” Liam says. “Nothing leaves the room, remember?”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief.

 _“But,”_ Liam continues, “that doesn’t mean we can’t give you a push in the right direction. Ant’s right, I’ll make sure to introduce you guys tomorrow.”

“God, it’s not even, like - I don’t even-”

“You can make excuses all you want,” Cher says, wagging a Cheeto at Harry before popping it in her mouth, “but even if you don’t have a crush on him, you should still get to know him. Louis’s really great.”

All of the upperclassmen nod in agreement.

“Okay,” Harry says slowly. “But it has to be, like - it can’t be embarrassing, alright, Liam? Just a normal introduction.”

Liam grins. “Sure, bro. Whatever you want.”

God, Harry is so, _so_ fucked for tomorrow.

xxx

Around midnight, Harry finally crawls in bed, exhausted and dreading getting up at seven in the morning. It was a good first day, though, and he definitely picked the right section to join in terms of the friends he’s made; he'd looked over the band roster a little before getting in bed and became immediately grateful for his small, close-knit section once he saw how large some of the other sections were. (The weirdest part, though, is that he has to meet all of those people and remember their names.)

He considers texting Gemma or his mom, but his eyelids are drooping so much that maybe he’ll just save that for tomorrow night. The XL-twin sheets are a little less comfortable than the high thread count ones he has at home and his tiny dorm room feels unfamiliar - but it’s a place to sleep and change his clothes, which Harry is starting to realize is all he’ll have time for during his free time from band. And so he closes his eyes, shifting around to get comfortable on the unfamiliar mattress and dropping into sleep almost immediately from how tired he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter, which covers the remainder of the first week of band camp, will be posted within the next two weeks.
> 
> I hope you're at least mildly intrigued or excited! Let me know what you thought in the comments!


	2. got the beat in my chest bumpin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the rest of the first week of band camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the band-nerdiest it will get throughout the whole fic, I promise! I over-indulged my love for band a little bit, please forgive me.
> 
> Some links to explanations: [drum major mace](http://www.marchingworld.com/media/wysiwyg/traditional_signal_baton.jpg), [tenor drums](http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8426/7787109406_7b1166c938.jpg), [beer pong](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beer_pong), [shako](http://www.bandshoppe.com/images/prd/headwear/hw630_largerimage.jpg). "Pregame" is a period of time before the football game when the marching band does a specific show, usually a combination of patriotic songs and the school's fight songs. Also everything's in Fahrenheit because we're in America!

Harry’s startled awake the next morning by a series of loud knocks on his door. He groans and sits up in bed, temporarily disoriented before he remembers where he is and why he’s here.

“Rise and shine, everybody!” he hears Liam scream outside in the hallway. “We leave for breakfast in a little over 40 minutes, so haul your asses out of bed!”

Harry groans again and looks at his phone, which reads “7:05 am.” _Fuck._

He stumbles out of bed, his head pounding. Seven hours of sleep isn’t awful, but he’d prefer to go to bed at 2 in the morning and then wake up at 9 than to wake up at 7. It’s just - it’s really fucking early, especially after a summer of sleeping in until noon.

Harry figures he should take a shower, so he steps out of his boxers and wraps a towel around his waist, slipping into his flip-flops after he’s grabbed his shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He pads out into the hallway, nodding good morning at Liam and a similarly-clad Cameron on his way to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Harry is showered, dressed, and packed for the day, being sure to shove sunscreen and bug spray in his backpack as per Liam’s instructions. He’s wearing a The 1975 concert t-shirt and his favorite pair of yellow shorts, along with some short socks and gym shoes, and he’s sure to apply extra deodorant before shouldering his backpack and exiting his room for the day, lugging his mellophone along with him.

Downstairs in the lobby, Liam and Ant are sitting on one of the couches scrolling through their phones.

“Hey, guys,” Harry says tentatively.

They both turn around. “Morning, Harry!” Ant says, waving at him.

“That makes three of us,” Liam mutters to himself, looking back at his phone. “Still waiting for all the girls plus Cam.”

Once everybody has made it downstairs, they head out to breakfast, walking north for about fifteen minutes until they reach Emory dining hall. Harry learns more about Cameron and Camila as they chatter about what classes they’re taking this semester and ask Harry what he’s planning on signing up for.

“Well, I’m not sure what I’m majoring in yet,” he says, ducking through the door that Liam’s holding open for all of them, “so I guess I’m just gonna sign up for a bunch of intro classes and see which ones I like.”

“That’s smart,” says Cameron. “I took Intro Psych when I was a freshman and it was a pretty cool class, so if you’re looking for something kind of science-y so you can see if you’re into it, that’s a good one.”

Harry isn’t sure if he’s looking for science, but he figures it’s at least worth a try.

The mellos claim a table for themselves and sit down one by one. Harry’s plate is mostly eggs - they actually looked half decent, and they’re a good source of protein - with a few strips of bacon on the side. He digs in with the rest of his section while Liam makes a pit stop at the drumline table to talk with Zayn; Harry smiles now that he knows why they talk so much, and it makes him wonder how many of the other freshmen know. He feels privy to some kind of awesome secret, honestly.

At 8:45, the whole band starts to gather up their dirty dishes, the _scrape_ of chairs across the linoleum floor audible throughout the whole dining hall as the group begins to file out, filling up their waterbottles or going to the bathroom as needed. Harry sticks close to Liam, mostly because he isn’t quite sure how to get to the north practice field yet, and they start walking there about five minutes later.

When they get there, they’re instructed again not to put their instruments together, that for the next three hours they’re going to be learning more marching fundamentals. First, of course, they have to do-

“Stretches, it’s time for stretches!” Louis’s voice booms over the megaphone, startling Harry so severely he almost falls over on his quest to find a space to stand that gives him room to stretch. “Hope everybody had a good night’s sleep, welcome to your first full day of rehearsal!”

A few students cheer, some grumble - but Harry can only blush, because Louis’s wearing gym shorts and another one of those sleeveless tank tops and a _fucking snapback,_ fuck. Before he can embarrass himself, though, “Good Morning” by Kanye starts to play over the speakers, and from the way Leigh-Anne starts to dance to it, Harry can guess it’s her choice.

“Alright, let’s get going,” she yells into the megaphone a second later. “First, up on your toes…”

xxx

The morning’s rehearsal is more grueling from last night’s, in part because there’s not a cloud in the sky and the sun continues to rise, beating down on them until they break for lunch. The other reason is that they’ve started to learn more complex commands, most of which involve actually moving.

“Right now we’re going to go over ‘glide step.’ It’s our most basic marching step, and the one we’ll use most often,” Dr. Higgins’ voice had boomed into the megaphone. “It’s called glide step for a reason - you roll your feet as you march so that you appear to glide across the field. This will help you maintain your posture and horn angle for a smooth delivery of sound. I’ll ask the drum majors to demonstrate right now, then we’ll break into sectionals so you can go over it with your leadership.”

“Glide step” had come pretty easily to Harry - to him, it was almost exactly like walking, except with a little more ankle flexing and a lot smaller step size.

“The steps have to be twenty-two and a half inches precisely,” Liam had barked at them, making George snort at his severity. “Eight regular-size steps have to cover five yards, which are very conveniently marked on every single football field ever.”

He gestures to the white lines marked in paint on the practice field.

“Oh, like the big ones they show on TV?” Jade asks.

“Yeah, those ones,” says Liam. “That means it’s also really easy to tell if one of us messes up on step size when we’re marching in a block. Let’s try 8-to-5 again, on my command.”

After they’d mastered going forward with glide step, Dr. Higgins had taken the band through turning right, left, and to the rear while still maintaining proper step size. That had taken about an hour in sectionals as well, mostly because a lot of the freshmen (Harry included) kept accidentally crossing their feet and stumbling during the right moving turn - or, as Dr. Higgins called it, the “right flank.”

Last but not least, they’d learned a different marching step right before they’d taken a break for lunch, called the “chair step.”

“For this one, lift your left heel up about three or four inches off the ground,” Dr. Higgins had instructed, “your knee should be bent, yeah, like that. Watch Louis or Leigh if you’re confused. Then, slowly lift your left leg off the ground, maintaining that angle with your knee, until your thigh is at about a forty-five degree angle to the ground. This is the highest your leg should come up for chair-step, we don’t want you making it too hard for yourself. Save that for high-step.”

The formers had snickered, some groaning in the same breath.

“Then bring your leg back down, maintaining that same angle and keeping your toe pointed, and finally lower your heel to the ground. Now, that’s all going to happen in the span of a beat, but it’s important you break the motion down to understand how it works before you start going faster. Section leaders, if you would.”

The sectionals on chair-stepping had led them right up until lunch.

“Do we have outdoor rehearsal after lunch too?” George had asked Liam as they walked to Emory. “I think I’m gonna have to buy more sunscreen.”

Liam laughs. “No, Higgins tries to keep us inside for the hottest part of the day. It _is_ summer, still, and we are in Chicago. You can get dehydrated if you aren’t careful. Anyway, we’ll be back at Ryan Hall for more music rehearsal.”

At Emory, Liam informs the section that they’re going to be sitting with the sousaphones today, so that Harry and Niall can get to know each other and the rest of the two sections’ freshmen can do the same.

“And so I can catch up with this idiot,” Aiden says, grabbing JJ in a headlock, who immediately shouts and starts a scuffle. If Harry remembers correctly, he’s the senior sousaphone section leader.

There’s a pasta bar as one of the options for lunch, so Harry and Niall start to chat as they stand in line waiting their turn.

“So you’re from Portland, then?” Niall asks. “How’s that?”

Harry snorts. “Did you stalk my Facebook?”

Niall holds his hands up. “Yeah, bro, no shame here. Had to make sure I wasn’t getting myself into some weird situation.”

“Guess I seemed alright, then.”

“Yeah, you checked out,” Niall jokes.

“It’s really, really nice,” Harry says. “Living in Portland. Well, the close suburbs, but it’s easier just to say Portland, and we do go into the city as much as we can. It’s a lot different from here, I’ve been told.”

Niall snorts. “Yeah, Chicago’s a lot different than hippie-central.”

“Hey!”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, that’s just what I’ve heard,” Niall says. They’re almost near the front of the line.

“I’m guessing you’re not from hippie-central, then,” says Harry.

Niall laughs and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t stalk _my_ Facebook, now _I_ feel like the creepy one!”

Harry laughs too, then says, “I think you… you _sort_ of sound like you’re vaguely from the South, is that true?”

Niall nods. “Suburbs of Atlanta.”

“Oh, so this weather’s nice for you, then,” Harry says as they load up their plates with pasta. “I’ve been complaining about how hot it is, but - Jesus, I see you guys on the Weather Channel sometimes, and - yeah.”

“Yeah, it’s a fuckin’ break from what it usually is,” says Niall. “I don’t think I’m gonna do too well with the winters here, though.”

Although talking about the weather is probably the most overused and cliche conversation opener they could have gone with, their conversation quickly turns to more personal and fun topics as they sit down with the mellophones and sousaphones. Other sections have apparently paired off as well, making Harry wonder if that’s a thing they’re going to be doing all week.

He finds that Niall has one older brother who just got engaged, that his family lives right next to the golf course his dad owns and runs, and that his father went to Lincoln and majored in business administration.

“And he ended up owning a golf course? That’s a pretty sweet deal,” Harry comments.

“No, he, uh - my father’s a management consultant for a company in Atlanta,” says Niall.

Harry cocks his head and starts to smile in realization even as Niall looks uneasy. “You - you have two dads, then?”

Niall nods quickly, still sizing Harry up.

“Don’t look nervous, my kids’re gonna have two dads too,” Harry says, breaking the tension. “Y’know, uh, when I have kids.”

He starts dancing in his seat to the dining hall elevator music as Niall relaxes, then starts laughing at how ridiculous Harry looks.

“Seriously, bro,” Niall says after they’ve calmed down, “I can’t tell you how many people, like, don’t figure it out for a while and then act all weird, like, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had two dads?’”

Harry scoffs. “That’s stupid.”

“I know,” Niall groans. “It’s not like I’m gonna introduce myself like, ‘Hi, my name’s Niall and I have two dads.’”

“I don’t introduce myself as, ‘I’m Harry and I have a mom and a dad,’” Harry points out, nodding.

“Exactly! Exactly. Anyway, yeah - wasn’t sure when that was gonna come up in the conversation, but you were really chill about it, which is awesome.”

Harry scoffs again. “Who wouldn’t be? At least on a college campus. Lincoln’s pretty liberal, I thought.”

Niall shrugs. “My father says not everyone’s so gung-ho about gay rights in college. Most people are, but some frats are kinda weird about it.”

“I can kinda see that,” Harry says. “Liam’s gay and he’s in one, though - you know Liam, the mello drill leader-”

“Yeah, saw him introduce himself at rehearsal yesterday,” Niall says. “Which one’s he in?”

“Sigma Mu.”

Niall’s eyes go wide. _“Dude._ I - that’s the one my father was in! I’m a Sig Mu legacy!”

“Does… does that mean you want to be in it too?” Harry asks tentatively. He isn’t sure what a legacy means, since neither of his parents went Greek when they were in college.

“Yeah, of course,” Niall nods eagerly. “He was a _legend_ when he went here, seriously. I’ll have to talk to Liam and ask him when rush happens.”

“You can talk to him now, if you want,” Harry says, “‘cause I’m gonna go and get seconds.”

“Nah, food’s more important,” says Niall, standing up. “I’ll go with you.”

The rest of lunch passes in a similarly pleasant fashion, and at about 12:50 they put their dishes away, grab their instruments, and set off down south for Ryan Hall.

During music rehearsal, they finally move away from playing _only_ scales and start to tackle Lincoln’s fight song, appropriately dubbed the “Lincoln Rouser.” The clarinets and flutes have what sounds like an extremely difficult technical part in the upper registers of their instruments, so Dr. Higgins spends a little bit of time going over it with them as the rest of the band tries to avoid getting their phones out (and sometimes fails). Mostly, though, they’re playing pretty continuously for about three hours, and Harry can already feel his embouchure getting stronger even compared to yesterday.

After full music rehearsal, they break into music sectionals, giving each section an hour to practice individual parts on their own time before dinner. The mellophones trudge out to a spot by the lake, which is already Harry’s favorite part of campus after being here for only five seconds.

“I didn’t realize you could see Chicago from here!” Jade exclaims, looking at the faraway skyline.

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome,” says Cher. “And it’s such a nice clear day, too.”

“Don’t jump in the lake, though,” Liam says. “Lake Michigan’s always cold, even this time of year.”

Camila snorts. “Cold’s what I’m looking for right now, smart stuff. _God,_ it’s so hot out - are you _sure_ we have to practice more, Aiden?”

“Well-” Aiden starts.

“My mouth’s already sore from all the buzzing,” George whines.

(There’s probably an opportunity for an innuendo there, but Harry figures band students have probably already developed the ability to ignore most readily-available band innuendos. Some of this stuff is just too easy.)

“Yeah, I figured,” says Aiden. “Maybe just practice fingering through your parts, see if you can get some muscle memory going for Lincoln Rouser. You don’t have to use your mouth if you’re just fingering.”

Harry’s mouth drops open, worrying that band kids truly _are_ immune to _any_ and all kinds of innuendos when none of the others react but instead keep straight faces. Then, five seconds later, Liam bursts out laughing and rolls over onto the ground and the rest of the mellos follow suit.

“Thank _god,”_ Harry mutters.

“I set myself up for that one, didn’t I,” Aiden sighs.

xxx

They eat dinner with the clarinets, and Harry meets its section leaders (whose names he didn’t catch during that first rehearsal only because he was trying to stare at Louis’s ass) Jaymi and Eleanor as well as a few of its freshman members. It’s a pretty big section, one of the biggest in the band, and it’s clear that they’re still trying to get to know each other while also trying to get to know the mellophones, but they seem like a really fun and tight-knit group.

Throughout dinner, Cher quietly teases Harry that he should go over and introduce himself to Louis, making Harry hiss _no_ at her over and over as a blush spreads across his cheeks. She stops pestering him once he repeatedly flicks pieces of Cap’n Crunch at her, but it still doesn’t help the weird nervousness in Harry’s stomach.

The sun’s still relatively high in the sky when they set out for the north practice field at 5:45, and Harry wonders what’s left to learn in terms of fundamentals and when they’re going to start actually, like, marching as a band. He’s heard that happens, at some point.

As they apply sunscreen and bug spray, Liam tells the section that this is probably the last rehearsal they’ll have without instruments; tomorrow, they’ll start reviewing all their fundamentals while holding instruments, and they might be able to start practicing their pregame drill by as early as tomorrow night. Harry’s excited and apprehensive all at once.

“Alright, band, let’s form a block,” Dr. Higgins’ voice blares at exactly 6:00. “I’ve just got a few more things to teach you, then we’re well on our way to becoming a real marching band.”

There are a few cheers from the formers as they all get up, wandering onto the field and stationing themselves in a block. The first thing they learn is how to turn while marching in chair step, which they learned earlier in the day; if Harry thought he had a tough time turning using glide step, he’s absolutely hopeless for chair step.

“Don’t worry, everyone gets it,” Liam had whispered to him. “It confuses everyone when they first get here.”

It had made Harry feel slightly better, but not much; then, they spent a while going over it in sectionals, and by the end of that Harry finally feels like he’s mastering it. He doesn’t look as smooth or natural doing it as most of the formers, but he also doesn’t feel completely inept.

That is, until Dr. Higgins asks them to re-form the block and informs them that they’re about to learn “high-step.”

“This is our third and final marching step we use,” he says over the low groans of some of the formers, “and for this one we always, _always_ have our instruments down. We only use high-step to get on and off the field during pregame - it’s a bit of the flashy, showy band culture that’s common in the Pres League. Everyone does this step except for the drumline.”

Everyone looks over at the line, who smirk and relax from attention once they realize they don’t have to do it.

“Zayn, if you want to take them and go over some more cadences by the lake while we rehearse, that would be great,” Dr. Higgins instructs.

Harry sees Zayn nod and pick his snare drum up, fitting it to his chest harness as the rest of the drumline follows suit.

“Now, I’m going to have the drum majors demonstrate high-step for you first before I even attempt to explain it,” Dr. Higgins continues as the drumline ambles off the field. “This is what they do for pretty much the entirety of pregame while the rest of you get your chair step and glide step, so they’ve got a pretty good handle on the form.”

The band chuckles. Harry watches as Louis and Leigh-Anne pick up their maces, holding them out horizontally an arm’s length from their chests. They go very still, their bodies straight and their chins poised, and Harry almost can’t handle the anticipation before Leigh-Anne shouts, “5, 6, 7, 8!”

They both kick their left legs out on “8,” and on the next beat they’re off, perfectly in-sync as they do what’s effectively a higher version of the “chair step” Harry had learned earlier. Their thighs end up parallel with the ground with how high their legs are going and their upper bodies remain effectively motionless, stoic as they do the high step - or _leap,_ is more what it looks like. Jesus.

The band starts to cheer when they just keep _going_ like it isn’t even bothering them, and Harry starts to gulp when he wonders how long the band has to do this for. He hadn’t realized marching bands were so athletic, and although he normally has his asthma under control, he isn’t sure how much of this “high step” he can do without getting winded.

All too soon, though, Louis and Leigh stop, and the band is broken into sectionals once again so that the section leaders can demonstrate the high-step to their sections.

“Most of you probably saw that Leigh and Louis primed on count 8, or - really, the ‘and’ of count 8, if you want to break the beat down into separate components - and that’s absolutely critical to do with your left leg. If you don’t get ready, there’s no way you’re going to fall into step with the rest of us,” says Liam.

Harry gulps.

Liam goes on to explain how their legs have to look during each individual step of the move, and by the time he’s done Harry and George are visibly quaking in their gym shoes. (It also doesn’t help that Harry had worn pretty short shorts today, not realizing how athletic he was going to have to be.)

“You guys ready to try it?” Liam asks finally.

A few of the upperclassmen make affirmative noises, but that’s about all the response he gets.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” Liam offers. “I promise all our upperclassmen and leadership started at the same spot you’re starting at now. Everyone gets it eventually, it’s just going to take time and practice. Ready, let’s try it. 5, 6, 7, 8!”

 _God,_ it’s exhausting. Liam makes them do it for sets of 16 counts over and over until they’re all huffing and puffing and Harry’s barely sure if his legs are going to work anymore, much less his lungs.

“You’re still not all getting the thigh completely parallel to the ground,” Liam barks, clapping his hands, “so we’re going to do it until we all get it right, okay? Better make it quick, 5, 6, 7, 8!”

They start again. Harry feels horrible and guilty, like _he’s_ the one that’s holding the whole section up even though he’s pretty sure he’s getting his legs enough off the ground, and he starts to internally panic. His breathing speeds up, speeds up, _speeds up_ until he’s really wheezing, and he can feel his legs giving out even though he doesn’t want to and oh god he can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe-_

“Harry, get up,” he hears Liam urge him. It sounds muted, though - far away, and Harry can only wheeze in response, desperately trying to breathe as his airway swells up.

“Harry, come on, I promise you can do it.”

Harry’s sure he can’t, shaking his head _no_ as he gasps for air.

“Harry-”

Suddenly, a new voice joins the mix. Harry’s vision has started to swim, so he can’t really make out who’s joined Liam next to him.

“Liam, you idiot, he’s having an asthma attack.”

“He is?” Liam asks, his voice suddenly panicked.

“Yeah, positive.”

Fingers snap in front of Harry’s face.

“Do you have an inhaler in your bag?”

Harry nods yes, grateful for whoever stepped in.

“Liam, run and bring his bag back here.”

Liam’s form fades away and the newcomer crouches down next to Harry, starting to rub his back as he wheezes. Shadows fall on Harry’s face then and he panics, realizing that the section have stopped high-stepping and are all crowding around him.

“Back up, back up, give him some room,” Harry’s savior barks at them, and immediately Harry feels fresh clean air on his face again. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Try to relax.”

Then, Liam’s back with his bag, and Harry tears through it gratefully to find his inhaler, which he immediately puts to his lips, squeezing and breathing just like he normally does when an attack flares up. After several seconds he can feel the medicine start to work, his airway relaxing and cool air flooding into his lungs once more.

Of course, it figures that when Harry finally takes the inhaler away and focuses on his surroundings once more, he realizes that he’s - fuck. He’s just met Louis Tomlinson in the _absolute worst way possible._

“Hi there,” Louis says, even more gorgeous up close and personal as he waves his fingers in front of Harry’s face. “You alright?”

Harry nods mutely, his cheeks flaming.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had asthma, Harry?” Liam cuts in worriedly before either of them can say anything else.

Harry shrugs, coughs, then says, “I didn’t, like - I didn’t think band would be this strenuous. It didn’t seem relevant.”

Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, marching bands always just seem like a bunch of nerds when we show up in movies, don’t we?”

“Oh, god, I didn’t mean it like-”

“Shh, just messing with you,” Louis says, winking at him as he helps Harry stand up. “It’s Harry, right?”

Harry nods.

“M’Louis, nice to meet you.”

Harry’s still holding his hand from when Louis helped him up, so they kind of transition into shaking hands, making both of them laugh.

“I think I’m - if it’s okay, I think I need to sit down until I stop being dizzy,” Harry says after a second.

“Yeah, definitely,” says Louis. “You need to drink some water, too. Liam, mellophones, as you were!”

Well, Harry hadn’t actually intended for Louis to come _with_ him as he walks to the sidelines, but he doesn’t exactly mind.

“Hope you didn’t mind me intervening back there,” Louis says as they walk. “I was just passing by and couldn’t help noticing, uh-”

“That I wasn’t breathing?” Harry snorts.

“Well, yeah,” Louis laughs awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. “Two of my little sisters have asthma, so I know what attacks look like.”

“What gave me away? The fact that I was clawing at my throat?” Harry asks with a smirk.

Louis holds his hands up. “Hey, in my defense no one else figured out what was going on, even if you were making it pretty fucking obvious.”

They both laugh, and even though Harry’s still embarrassed as all hell, he feels a little bit better when he sits down to have some water and Louis joins him. Before they can talk any more, though, Dr. Higgins comes jogging over to them, Nick and Greg hot on his heels.

“Everything alright?” Dr. Higgins asks. “Nick just told me he thought he saw Louis save one of the freshmen from an asthma attack.”

Louis grins. “Well, technically it was the inhaler that did the saving.”

Greg snorts behind Dr. Higgins’ back but quickly covers it up as a cough. Dr. Higgins, though, doesn’t look nearly as amused, so Louis hastily continues, “But - yeah, uh. I realized what was going on and had Liam get Harry his inhaler.”

“Harry, is it?” Dr. Higgins asks. Harry nods, and Dr. Higgins extends a hand for him to shake. “Good to meet you. Are you feeling alright now? Is there anything else we can get for you?”

“No, I think I’m okay,” says Harry. “I just got nervous and upset and winded all at once, but I’m fine now.”

Dr. Higgins nods. “You don’t think that’s going to be a problem on game days, do you? I’m concerned for your wellbeing during pregame, now.”

“It depends how long we do it for,” Harry admits. “Like, I was fine for the first couple of minutes we were doing it-”

“Oh, no, you’ll only be doing it for a minute, tops,” says Dr. Higgins. “Probably around 64 counts, 80 at most, depending on how fast Zayn counts the drumline off and how fast we can get everybody on the field.”

“Oh, okay,” says Harry. “I think that’ll be fine, then.”

“Liam was working them so hard I’m surprised more people didn’t collapse,” Louis puts in.

Dr. Higgins frowns, which makes Harry feel bad because it isn’t _Liam’s_ fault that Harry sucks at breathing. “No, really, it’s fine, I-”

“Sophomore section leaders do tend to be slightly overenthusiastic,” says Nick contemplatively. “They’ve got the most to prove.”

“No, seriously, it was my fault,” Harry insists.

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” Dr. Higgins says with a wave of his hand, “just a combination of a disease and a marching sectional. I hope you feel better soon, Harry. It was nice meeting you.”

With that, he turns to go, Nick and Greg following behind him.

“Why didn’t you let me throw Liam under the bus?” Louis asks Harry with a pout. “I wanted to see him get yelled at in front of his section.”

Harry eyes him suspiciously. “I thought you guys were friends.”

Louis snorts. “We _are_ friends. Close enough friends that it would’ve been fuckin’ hilarious to watch.”

Harry laughs.

“Alas, only 24 hours here and you’re already too loyal for your own good,” Louis continues with a smirk. He stands up then, and Harry feels something sad twist in his stomach at the thought that Louis doesn’t want to sit with him anymore; when he realizes that Louis is just going over to the water cooler to grab Harry a cup of water, though, the feeling in his stomach turns all warm and fuzzy instead.

Maybe this wasn’t the worst way to meet after all.

xxx

Harry goes to bed that night exhausted from day two, feeling like his limbs are made of lead. At the same time, though, he feels happy happy _happy,_ so much so that he floats weightlessly into dreamland thinking about Louis Louis Louis.

xxx

At breakfast the next morning, Harry’s in line for the omelet station with Jade when he sees Louis, Zayn, and a crowd of other upperclassmen walk into the dining hall, people who he assumes live with them in that house Liam was talking about. Zayn makes a beeline for the cereal, but Louis peruses all the options first, wandering by Harry and Jade’s line.

“Morning, Harry,” he says casually, so much so that Harry doesn’t realize he’s done it before Jade elbows him in the side.

“Morning,” Harry stammers back, flushed and pleased, but Louis is already heading for the cereal as well.

“Oh my god, you’re so embarrassing,” Jade hisses at him, grinning.

“Well, it’s not like I was _expecting_ him to say hi to me,” Harry replies indignantly. “We only talked for, like, five minutes from yesterday.”

“After he _saved_ you,” Jade says dramatically, putting her hand over her heart. “Seriously, you should have seen the way he was hovering over you. It was pretty cute.”

“Stop it.”

“No, I’m serious! Although - if you wanted Liam to come up with a non-embarrassing way to introduce you guys, I don’t really think that worked out.”

“I _know,”_ Harry groans. “God, that was the worst.”

They both laugh about it some more until they get to the front of the line and put their orders in to the man cooking custom omelets. Once his is ready, Harry adds some tater tots to his plate and wanders over to the mellophone table after filling a cup with orange juice.

“We’re eating lunch with the drumline today,” Liam informs them once they’ve all sat down. “Dinner is still open, though.”

“What about the trumpets?” Ant suggests.

“I’ll talk to Josh,” Aiden nods. “They’re such a big section, though, it’s always so weird eating with them.”

“The clarinets weren’t so bad,” says Harry.

“Yeah, but the trumpets are…” Aiden starts. He pauses. “Kind of clique-y. More so than the other sections. Oh well, maybe they’re different this year.”

“Doubt it,” Matt snorts.

“Did you get time to talk to Niall at lunch yesterday?” Liam asks Harry after they’re mostly done eating.

Harry nods, draining the last of his orange juice. “Yeah, he’s awesome. Oh, also, he mentioned something about wanting to join your frat.”

“Sigma Mu?”

“Yeah, he said his dad was in it when he went here.”

Liam’s eyes light up. “Oh, a _legacy._ He’ll be a shoe-in, then. Always great to have legacies.”

Frats are kind of weird, Harry thinks. He keeps this to himself. “But yeah, we seem to get along pretty well. I’m excited to live with him.”

“What dorm are you guys living in?” asks Liam.

“Aspen.”

Liam’s mouth drops open excitedly. “No way, really?”

“Uh, yeah?” Harry responds, confused.

“I’m a RA in Aspen this year,” Liam explains. “Oh, man, we’re gonna get sick of each other.”

Harry laughs. “What floor are you on?”

“Second.”

“Stop, so am I!” Harry exclaims. “Niall’s gonna jizz himself. He wants to be in your fraternity, like, _really_ bad.”

Liam laughs. “He doesn’t have to worry. Legacies always get in, plus he sounds really cool so that’s just a bonus.”

They finish up eating and walk up to the north practice field, and for the first time ever Aiden tells them to get their mellophones out of their cases.

“We’re starting to play while marching today,” he informs them. “And I _think_ I heard that, after Dr. Cowell comes and teaches us the alma mater in practice this afternoon, we’re also gonna try to memorize some of the pregame music.”

“Already?” Cameron asks. “It’s only Tuesday.”

“Higgins told leadership that they’ve already decided on a really cool but pretty complicated halftime drill to teach us for the first game,” Liam replies. “So we need to learn pregame and get it out of the way so we can have a few days for that.”

God, Harry’s nervous. He looks at George, who has a similarly apprehensive look on his face, and takes comfort in the fact that George is probably just as hopeless as he is right now.

The morning is brutal on Harry’s embouchure. After stretches (during which Harry definitely does _not_ stare at Louis’s ass in his gym shorts - seriously, he doesn’t) Dr. Higgins has them march glide step, practicing all the different moves and turns they’d learned yesterday, while playing scales on their instruments.

“The goal is for your steps to sound invisible,” he tells them over the megaphone. “What I mean by that is that, even when you’re playing long tones, you shouldn’t be able to hear little blips and dips in your sound every time you step forward. That might happen if you’re not doing glide step properly, so you’ll actually be able to hear it this time and assess your form.”

They do sound better by the time they break for lunch, especially after they’d been given a “break” from playing to go into sectionals and review various chair-step and high-step moves. It does mean that Harry’s lips are exhausted, though, and he shudders to think of the fact that they have three, maybe four hours of playing to do during full music rehearsal in the afternoon.

When they get to Emory dining hall and get plates of food, the drumline are nowhere in sight to sit with.

“Oh, they usually take a little bit to get here because they have to put their harnesses and drums in the truck. We’ll just - here, let’s spread ourselves out over a couple of tables and they can come and fill in when they get here,” Liam says.

Harry sits at a table with Liam and Cameron, while the rest of the section takes up two more large tables by spacing themselves out. The drumline eventually does show up, and when Harry sees a girl make a beeline for Ant’s table, sit down next to him, and kiss him on the cheek, he assumes that’s Jesy, Ant’s girlfriend.

The drumline gradually fills in the remaining seats. A girl sits down next to Harry and introduces herself as Normani, one of the freshman cymbal players. They talk for a bit, and Harry learns that she’s planning on majoring in chemistry and also super nervous about it.

He’s in the middle of reassuring her that, hey, at least she has some idea of what she wants to study, when the seat across from Liam that the drumline had conspicuously left vacant gets taken by Zayn. This close, Harry can make out what some of his tattoos are - he has a pair of lips with wings tattooed below his collarbone, a tiger on his shoulder, and “Zap!” on his forearm in a red bubble that looks like it came out of a comic book, to name a few.

“Hey,” he says, settling in with his stir-fry as his eyes flick up to Liam. “How was rehearsal?”

It’s the first thing Harry’s heard him say, and his voice is different than Harry had expected - softer, a little more reserved.

“It was alright,” says Liam. “Super happy that we got our embouchures worn out just in time for Dr. Cowell to yell at us about our tone.”

Zayn giggles - fucking _giggles -_ and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yeah, that must suck.”

“I can’t believe you guys don’t have to worry about that,” Liam grumbles.

“Nope, just our backs,” says Zayn. “The tenors are already asking for time off to go get x-rayed at the hospital.”

“Isn’t that serious?” Liam asks.

Zayn snorts and shakes his head. “No, they do that every year. It’s just the first couple of days that suck after nine months of not having five drums attached to you all day.”

Eventually, Liam decides that the table should go around and introduce themselves and say what they did over the summer. Some of the drumline members start to groan, but Zayn immediately silences them with glares, then turns back to Liam with an indulgent expression on his face. Harry’s never seen Zayn smile this much in rehearsal.

When it gets to Harry, he says, “My name’s Harry, and I, uh… I didn’t really do much with my summer, just kind of fucked around with my high school friends ‘cause we knew it was the last real summer we had together.”

The table nods sympathetically, one of the bass drum players murmuring, “That’s real.”

“Wait, _you’re_ Harry the mellophone?” Zayn asks suddenly, scrutinizing him.

“...Yes?” Harry answers tentatively.

Zayn looks at him a little longer, his brown eyes piercing, and then he smirks, which looks _devastating_ on his handsome face. “I’ve just, uh - heard about you, is all. All good things, man, all good things.”

Before Harry can interpret what that means, one of the other cymbal players - Siva - speaks up. “Hey, weren’t you the guy that got an asthma attack during high-step yesterday?”

“Oh my god, that’s how people know me now,” Harry groans, covering his face with his hands. The drumline weren’t even _there_ and they heard about it, _fuck._

“Hey, no worries, man,” Siva says. “I have asthma too and I’m _sure_ I would’ve had problems if we had to do high-step. It looks brutal.”

The rest of the table murmurs in agreement.

“This is why I was telling you cymbal’s the ideal instrument, Normani,” Siva continues. “We don’t get the back pain and we don’t have to do high-step, either. Best of both worlds.”

They reach over the table for a high-five while the rest of the drumline groans and Harry laughs, and lunch continues without a fuss. He sometimes wants to ask Zayn what he was talking about when he said he’d “heard about him,” but as sweet as Zayn is with Liam, he seems to reserve that demeanor _just_ for his boyfriend. Harry’s still wary about initiating conversation with Zayn himself.

xxx

Dr. Simon Cowell, Director of Bands at Lincoln University, is an _extremely_ intimidating man. From the applause that he gets when he takes the podium in Ryan Hall, Harry gets that the students really like him and admire him, but he has a commanding presence and no-nonsense attitude that’s even more intense than Dr. Higgins’. He has a bit of grey in his dark hair, and although Harry’s not sure how old he is he’s clearly been in music for many years.

He takes them through some scales and, as Liam predicted, has some stern words for them about their tone, and then he begins to teach them the Lincoln University Alma Mater. It’s quite a pretty song - because, as much as Harry adheres to the standard band-nerd practice of insisting that bands play _pieces_ , not _songs,_ this one is actually a song, meant to be sung by alumni as something that brings everyone together regardless of age. Apparently, they perform it after every halftime show.

“No, no, that’s not good enough,” he says, cutting the band off after their fourth attempt at playing the first note. “You have to all come in together, _breathe_ together. Breathe together as a band and picture yourself giving this song the performance it deserves. Picture a band just like you sitting down to play this a century ago, and know that you’re continuing their legacy.”

Well, _shit._ When he puts it that way, Harry feels compelled to do better, and apparently the rest of the band does too because Dr. Cowell doesn’t cut them off after their first note that time and lets them play through several lines of music until he cuts them off.

“You might notice the music splits into four parts here,” he says, tapping the music on the stand. “This is where you stop playing and start singing.”

The formers nod, and the freshmen start murmuring excitedly.

“I’ll take you through each part,” Dr. Cowell says. He walks over to the piano on the left side of the podium and sits down. “Soprano, alto, tenor, and bass. I trust that at this stage in your life you know what your vocal range is, even if you don’t consider yourselves professional singers.”

They spend the next fifteen minutes going over the vocal parts, learning the lyrics to the part of the alma mater that the band gets to sing with the rest of the crowd. Harry’s always been back and forth on whether he’s a tenor or a bass, but his voice has gotten low enough at this point that he feels more comfortable singing the bass part. After they finish singing, Dr. Cowell takes them through the complete alma mater twice more, then thanks them and takes his leave as all the students clap.

Dr. Higgins takes the podium back and says, “Dr. Cowell conducts the alma mater at every halftime we play. Not many directors of bands do that, so I hope you all know how lucky you are. Now, let’s see what progress we’ve made on memorizing pregame music.”

xxx

After another two hours in full music and an hour in sectionals, Harry’s lips just about feel like they’re going to fall off, so he’s glad to get a break for dinner. He thinks he has the pregame music under his fingers at this point, though - the fight song, the patriotic medley, and the several other “rouser” songs they play as they march down the field.

“Alright, remember, we’re eating with the trumpets tonight,” Aiden tells them. “Be sure to spread yourselves out and don’t be afraid to butt in if they’re starting to clump together. Be social, et cetera.”

“Thanks, dad,” says Matt, making them all laugh.

The trumpets end up getting the tables before the mellophones do, so they’re the ones who actually have to fill in. The trumpets have left spaces for them, though, scattered among a few tables but usually two or three together. Harry follows Liam to one of the tables, sliding in next to him to discover that he’s sitting across from-

“Oh, hi, Louis,” he says in surprise.

“Hello to you too,” Louis says brightly, folding two pieces of pizza together to make a sandwich. “Why do you sound surprised to see me?”

“I just - well, I guess you and Leigh-Anne can’t just be your own section to meet people, can you?” Harry guesses.

“Yeah, that doesn’t work well for meeting an entire section when it’s just the two of us,” says Louis. “So, for meals during the first week of band camp I sit with the trumpets and she sits with the altos ‘cause that’s what we each used to play back in the day.”

Liam snorts. “Back in the day - Louis, that was just last year.”

“Yeah, but as far as the freshmen know I’ve been a drum major my whole life,” says Louis. “My past means nothing to them. I’m a blank slate.”

One of the trumpets sitting next to Louis rolls his eyes fondly.

“So how was your day, Harry?” Louis asks. “Better than yesterday? Liam didn’t work you too hard after he almost killed you yesterday, did he?”

Liam and Harry both start clamoring to deny that at the same time, making Louis crack up.

“God, you guys are too much,” he laughs.

“I _told_ you it was _fine,”_ Harry insists, still smiling. Turning to Liam, he says, “Did you know that he tried to make Dr. Higgins yell at you yesterday?”

 _“Harry,”_ Louis gasps as Liam shakes his head, “I thought you were trustworthy!”

“That’s probably the least surprising thing I’ve ever heard,” says Liam as they all laugh. “Louis is the worst.”

This time it’s Louis’s turn to make indignant noises as Harry says, “Aw, he doesn’t seem too bad.”

Louis shakes his head and narrows his eyes. “I see what’s going on here, and you know what, it’s going to take more than that to regain my trust, Harold. You’ve _wounded_ me.”

“God, you’re such a theatre major,”says Liam.

Louis flips him off and takes a bite of his pizza. “You know, you should be a lot nicer to me, Liam,” he says. “Or else I just might decide to do my laundry right in the middle of the next shower you and Zayn take together.”

This makes the whole _table_ crack up, and the rest of the dinner goes a lot like that, Louis commanding a large portion of the conversation. He’s so fun to watch when he talks, how animated he is, that Liam has to step on Harry’s foot more than once to make Harry realize that he’s _staring_. He can’t help it, though - Louis is _magnetic,_ and the fact that he seems willing to incorporate Harry into his orbit is as baffling as it is pleasing. It is just surface-level conversation, though, and Harry wants to learn more about Louis as a _person._

There’s no time for that, though, because eventually they have to get up and head back to the north practice field for night rehearsal. For the first time, Dr. Higgins doesn’t have them arrange themselves into a block, but rather asks them to huddle by the director’s ladder.

“The drum majors and grads are going to be passing out pregame drill in just a few moments,” he tells them. “If you’ve never read drill charts before, you’re going to be seeing a series of different shapes each laid out on the grid of the football field. You’re each going to be assigned individual numbers in a minute, each of which correspond to a marked dot on the chart. Instructions on what to do in between each chart are found in the box on the top right corner of each page, usually grouped together by what line you’re in on the field. If you have any questions, you can direct them to your section leaders.”

A thick stack of drill charts gets handed to Harry, who takes one from the pile and passes it to George.

“Now, I’m going to read out each person’s number so I’m going to need you to be very quiet. Starting with the flutes - Edwards, 1…”

Harry ends up being assigned number 94, which he hastily circles on the chart with the pencil Aiden shoves into his hand.

Once they get onto the field and assemble into the first chart, Harry begins to get a sense of how to actually _read_ the damn things. The vertical lines on the chart are the yard lines, and the horizontal lines represent four-step intervals that the grads have marked on the field with spray-paint. As for the commands, the abbreviations confuse Harry for the first three or four charts and he has to ask Liam for a lot of help, but eventually he learns that they all correspond to the commands they band has spent the past two days learning. After that, it’s not so bad.

They actually end up making it through a good portion of the pregame packet before Dr. Higgins decides to call it a night, and Harry walks back to the dorm feeling happy and not entirely useless. He calls his mom before he goes to bed, talks with her for about half an hour until he can’t make it through a sentence without yawning and she forces him to hang up and go to bed, a smile in her voice as she tells him she loves him. Harry’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

xxx

The next morning, Harry wakes up to Liam’s customary shouting in the hallway and discovers that, however exhausted he is, his dick didn’t get the memo from where it’s tenting the sheets. He groans, bone-tired and wishing for several more hours of sleep, and slides his hand under the covers to wrap around his cock, hoping that he can get this over with quickly.

He hasn’t gotten off since Saturday, though, and his hand feels surprisingly good when he strokes his thumb over the head, getting it wet with pre-come that’s already dribbled out. He moans quietly and grips himself tighter, suddenly feeling hot under the sheets.

Harry can hear people bustling around in the hallway, starting to get into their morning routines, and he bites down on his lip to keep from making too much noise as he starts to stroke himself up and down, up and down, getting into a rhythm. God, it feels good, but he has to be fast, so he lets his mind wander to some of the amateur porn videos he’s watched recently, grainy videos in dorm rooms of boyfriends fucking each other the way they like it.

He moves his hand faster when he pictures his favorite one, which had involved one boy rimming the other for nearly thirty minutes as he shivered and moaned and came _three times._ Harry groans quietly and thinks he’d quite like to do that to someone, to just give them pleasure until they can’t take it anymore, but that he’d also _very_ much like that done to him. He spreads his legs a bit and slips his other hand under the covers, cupping and squeezing his balls as he imagines getting eaten out like that, face mashed into the covers as his hole gets teased and tickled.

 _Fuck,_ he’s getting close. Maybe he can find somebody here who’s into that, because - fuck, he did it a couple times over the summer but he wants more, and-

That’s when Harry’s awful brain turns to Louis.

It’s a terrible time for it to happen, too, because Harry can only take a few seconds of imagining it - imagining Louis licking into him and kissing him all over and then smirking when Harry can’t stay quiet and alerts the whole house to what they’re doing - before he has to frantically kick the sheets down the bed because he doesn't want to ruin them. His orgasm hits him hard, his toes curling as he stripes come up over his belly and onto his chest, and he clenches his teeth together and bites down on a few low moans that threaten to escape.

Oh, fuck. That was - god, Harry is so, _so_ fucked. He’s a little scared to see what his brain comes up with next time he jerks off, and he’s _more_ than a little scared to face Louis today after what he just did.

xxx

Morning rehearsal goes similarly to last night's, learning pregame and steadily putting music to the drill. Harry's least favorite part of the drill is, of course, the beginning, when the entire band enters the field to a brisk cadence using only high-step. They don't go over that too many times, though, because Dr. Higgins doesn't want to tax them too much, and they spend most of their time reviewing the downfield medley, the patriotic medley (they form a waving American flag during that one, which Harry thinks is pretty cool), the opposing team's fight song, and of course the Lincoln Rouser. They get to form their school's signature block "LU" on the field and then rotate around it like a marquee, which is apparently the crowd's favorite part.

At lunch, Louis says hello to Harry while he's waiting in line for food. "How was your morning?"

 _I thought about you eating my ass._ "Sweaty," Harry says instead.

Louis laughs, pushing his hair back from his face. "Yeah, it's starting to get even hotter, isn't it? August sucks in Chicago."

"I mean, at least we're indoors for the hottest part of the day."

"True, true," says Louis. "And today we get to do uniform fitting indoors, too, which is always an exciting time."

Harry isn't sure he imagines the way Louis's eyes look him up and down, but Louis smirks and turns to go so quickly afterward that Harry has to shake his head, confused and flustered.

True to Louis's word, the band does go through uniform fitting after lunch. Everyone had sent in their size measurements over the summer, but leadership has to make sure that everyone's fits properly before their first game on Saturday.

Harry wanders into the "Boys N-S" room when he's told to and sees that a few section leaders are busy helping other boys try on their uniforms. He sees one of them is unoccupied, though, a boy he recognizes as a trombone section leader.

"Hey, dude," he says, coming over to shake Harry's hand. "I don't think we've met yet. I'm Stan."

"Harry, nice to meet you," Harry says. He likes Stan. He seems friendly. "Last name Styles. For the, uh, for the uniforms."

"Right," says Stan. He rummages around piles of gold-colored garment bags before he finds the one he's looking for. "Here you go. Did you march in high school?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Okay, it's pretty straightforward anyway. Just put the pants on first - no, keep your shoes on, you'll need them to make sure the pants are the right length - and adjust the shoulder straps to make sure it fits right at the crotch."

Harry does as he's told, pulling on the navy jumpsuit and wiggling into it the rest of the way. He has to adjust the shoulder straps only half an inch before it feels like it fits well. "Does it look okay?"

Stan nods. "Yeah, they're falling just below your ankles, which is what you want. Alright, put on the jacket next."

Harry shrugs into the navy jacket, which has a very complicated diagonal zipper so as to seamlessly incorporate the shiny gold sash that falls across the front. The shoulders are heavily padded, making him feel a bit boxy, but it's pretty comfortable overall.

"I think it fits," Harry says.

"Awesome!" says Stan. "And there's a warmer included in your garment bag, too, which is basically a glorified raincoat that also keeps us warm late in the season. Now you just have to try on your shako."

He sorts through a stack of large hat boxes on the opposite wall until he finds one labeled with Harry's name. Harry didn't know there was a different word for this kind of hat - the kind that members of the military wear, and band kids too - but now he knows it's called a shako, and his fits him quite well once he secures the strap under his chin.

“Fits well,” Stan comments. “Alright, looks like you’re all set! I’ll just show you how to fold these back up so they don’t wrinkle and then you’re good to go.”

xxx

At full music rehearsal, they start in on memorizing the halftime music, which each section had started working on individually during sectionals yesterday. It’s what Dr. Higgins calls a “pop music” show, with arrangements of Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, and Kesha songs. The band collectively cringes just a little bit but soldiers through it, knowing that arrangements of popular songs usually come a year or so _after_ they hit the radio, but these are _ancient._

“Oh well, there’s no students there this week anyway,” Aiden comments during sectionals. “All the adults’ll probably think this stuff’s current.”

Freshmen move in for orientation on Monday, two days after the game. The band, meanwhile, is apparently scheduled to move in to their regular dorms on Friday when they open up for the year.

“Please, everyone knows ‘Poker Face’ came out _years_ ago,” Camila grumbles.

“Everyone except Higgins,” Ant points out, making them all laugh.

“Alright, back to memorizing, back to memorizing,” says Greg, who’s popped by to work with them today. Harry likes Greg - he jokes around a lot, but Harry also gets the sense that he knows his shit, and the time and place to really teach. “Let’s take it from bar 24, I’ll give you four counts and then you come in.”

xxx

They spend marching practice that night polishing pregame and making sure it’s seamless. It’s _exhausting,_ repetitive run-throughs that even have Louis and Leigh-Anne, constant sources of energy and encouragement for the rest of the band, flagging. It’s probably worse for them, too, because they have to high-step down the entire length of the field twirling their maces above their head while the rest of the band just glide-steps. The only break they get from moving their legs is during the patriotic medley, when they do a complicated mace routine at the front sideline while the rest of the band marches in the flag formation.

It’s exhausting for everyone else too, though, and at the end of the day even the walk back to Allen Hall seems like too much for Harry to bear; somehow, though, he makes it - they all do - and he falls asleep on top of his sheets with the light still on.

xxx

Thursday is _hot._

It’s a scorching 95 degree high _without_ the heat index, Liam informs them when he wakes them up. So when Harry gets dressed he opts for a loose-fitting tank top and his tiny yellow shorts, wanting the absolute minimum amount of clothing possible.

People start taking their shirts off even before stretches start that morning, so Harry follows suit, already uncomfortable from the tank top sticking to his skin. He makes sure to apply a good amount of sunscreen, but he hopes that today will even out the mild farmer’s tan he’s started to get from wearing t-shirts every day.

Then he sees Louis, and, _god -_ Harry thinks that if there is a hell it’s _definitely_ this hot and he’s _definitely_ in it, because Louis’s skin is golden and delicious all over even without his shirt on. There’s not a single tan line above the gym shorts Louis is wearing, just warm skin and a bit of a tummy and broad tan shoulders, all of which make Harry want to cry and then hug him and then make out with him. God.

Louis glances over to him, then, and Harry hastily tries to pretend that he wasn’t staring. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, just looks back at him for a while, gives him a little wave in greeting, and then goes over to Zayn and promptly starts headbutting him in the chest repeatedly.

After stretches at practice that morning, Dr. Higgins has the grads hand out drill charts for the halftime show. God, it feels like everything’s moving so fast, but - that’s the first week of band camp, apparently.

“Today’s the day we really need to get down to business,” Dr. Higgins tells them over the megaphone. “You’re going to spend tomorrow morning moving into your permanent dormitories, and I just want tomorrow night’s rehearsal to be polishing and ironing out little inconsistencies in our routines, so I want our halftime show memorized by tonight.”

The band murmurs, some of them groaning.

“It’s not a particularly complicated show - you can see that some of the forms are difficult, yes, but we actually took out some of the drill for ‘Teenage Dream’ because I thought it was too much for you guys to learn. You’re going to stand in place for that one and just play it with your best sound, or as the band likes to call it-”

“Park and blow!” some of the formers shout with glee.

Dr. Higgins laughs and puts his face in his hands. “Okay, yeah, you’ll park and blow for Teenage Dream,” he mutters into the megaphone.

Their numbers for this drill are the same as their numbers for pregame, so Harry once again circles “94” on the first page and makes sure to flip through the pages of the drill to get an idea of where he’s going to be moving. He still has a little trouble reading the charts sometimes, but it’s usually nothing that Liam can’t help him with in a couple of seconds.

They learn the entire drill to Poker Face that morning and, by the time they break for lunch, they’ve been able to put it to music.

“Before I let you go for lunch, I need to see leadership in the middle of the field for just a few minutes, as well as all students who will be living in Aspen Hall during the regular school year. Everyone else, I’ll see you at full music at one o’clock.”

Harry looks at Liam questioningly, but the other boy just shrugs. “C’mon, let’s go.”

They all gather around Dr. Higgins in the middle of the field - the twenty or so section leaders and an additional twenty freshmen who Harry assumes will be living in Aspen with him. It’s a freshman dorm, after all. Niall comes to stand next to Harry as Dr. Higgins starts to speak.

“So,” Dr. Higgins begins. “Residential Services contacted me this morning and informed me that the renovations to Aspen that was supposed to be completed by today isn’t going to be done until Saturday.”

“Does that mean we don’t have a place to live for three days?” one of the flute players asks.

Dr. Higgins laughs. “No, no - I mean, yes, you won’t be able to move in until Monday like the rest of the freshmen, but Residential Services also told me they’ve booked you all rooms in a hotel for three days.”

Some of the freshmen murmur excitedly. From the look on Dr. Higgins’ face, though, there seems to be a catch.

“There’s only one problem,” he continues. “It’s the Best Western down on Ridge.”

Liam groans. “That’s, like, twenty minutes away from campus!”

The freshmen start to look less excited, and Harry’s body protests at the thought of an additional twenty-minute walk tomorrow morning when his body is screaming in protest.

“Exactly,” says Dr. Higgins. “They didn’t seem to think that was a problem, since they’re already booking you in a hotel for free, but I’ve called leadership here for a reason as well. This is pretty unorthodox, but I want to know if all of you have enough - or know people with enough - space in your apartments and houses that we can house these students in temporarily. It’ll just be until Monday.”

The leadership are quiet for a few moments as they think.

“We can take six,” Stan says after a minute after he’s talked with Zayn, Jaymi, and Louis. Zayn elbows him in the side. “Er - seven, I guess. Forgot about Liam.”

“I’m kind of a fixture in their house already,” Liam mutters quietly to Harry as other section leaders start to speak up.

Eventually, it’s established that there’s enough space for the freshmen in various people’s apartments and houses.

“Alright, I’ll leave it to you guys to decide who goes where,” Dr. Higgins says. “Just make sure everybody has a place to sleep and store their stuff for three nights, that’s all I’m asking. Thanks so much for doing this.”

“You’ll be with me at Zayn’s, obviously,” Liam says to Harry as they walk away. “You too, Niall.”

“Cool,” says Niall. “Hey, man, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Sig Mu, d’you have a couple minutes?”

Liam’s face lights up. “Sure, bro, let’s talk at lunch. I just need to talk to Zayn about housing us and make sure everything’s good for Saturday night. Not sure if they’ve forgotten they’re hosting a party, but seven seems like a lot to jam in the bathroom for a night.”

Harry and Niall walk to lunch together, then. He hadn’t realized there was going to be a party, and he wonders if the whole band’s invited. Well - it doesn’t matter now, because seeing as he and Niall are going to be living there they’re definitely invited. Harry wonders if college parties here are anything like the ones at Stanford, which Gemma had brought him to. They had been crazy, but he’d felt pretty out of place.

xxx

Before he goes to bed that night, Harry packs up the rest of his stuff to make sure it’s going to be a decently easy move in the morning. He doesn’t feel as tired as yesterday, even though they’d spent the entire day learning drill - halftime is way less grueling than pregame.

xxx

Around eight o’clock the next morning, Harry stumbles down into the lobby of Allen Hall, dragging his suitcases with him, to meet Liam and Niall. Like the rest of the migrating band students, they turn their temporary dorm keys into the Res Services desk, but instead of leaving to go to another dorm, the three of them begin the off-campus journey to the band house.

Liam has to ring the doorbell about six times before anyone answers. Finally, Louis answers the door, clearly rumpled from sleep. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and his hair is sticking in about a dozen different directions, but - _god,_ he looks _good._ This soft and sleepy Louis might be even cuter than the Louis that shows up to band camp every day.

“Oh, hey, guys,” he says, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Come in, come in.”

He ushers them inside. Harry looks around as he walks in, sees that they’ve come into a living room of sorts, the majority of which is taken up by two large tables with red cups scattered all over them.

“Sorry about the mess, we played pong last night and still haven’t cleaned up,” says Louis. “Liam, Zayn’s still asleep but you can probably barge into his room and dump all your stuff there without waking him up. Harry, Niall, you guys are the first ones here, so you get first pick of couches.”

As Liam plods up the stairs, Louis leads them into another room with a large TV in it surrounded by four plush couches and a coffee table. “There are more in the basement if you want, but I personally think these are the nicest ones.”

“Thanks, man,” says Niall.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry echoes him. “Sorry to, like, take up all the space in your house.”

Louis waves them off. “No, it’s fine, seriously. It’s a lot better than having to stay down on Ridge. Now, uh, I don’t wanna be rude but I’m still kind of hungover, so I’m going to go back to bed.”

“We don’t have to be anywhere until noon, right?” Niall asks.

“Right,” says Louis, running his hand through his hair. It looks soft. “Feel free to answer the door if it rings again, that’ll just be more freshmen arriving. Or if you sleep through it I guess someone’ll answer it eventually.”

With that, he trudges back upstairs, leaving Harry to wonder what being hungover feels like. And also why the universe has to dangle sleepy Louis in front of him like that.

xxx

Harry and Niall make themselves at home on two of the couches, shoving their stuff into various corners until they’re situated, and then manage to get in an extra hour and a half of sleep. It’s actually really, really nice to be able to sleep in like this, while the rest of the band is moving into their dorms and spending the morning unpacking their stuff.

They wake up again when they feel other people in the house start to stir, and by noon they’re all ready to head to lunch. On the fourteen-person walk there, Harry ends up walking next to Louis, who introduces him to the rest of the house’s occupants.

“Okay, so you’ve met Stan and Zayn, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods.

“Alright, so there’s… Jaymi’s over there, he plays clarinet.”

“I’ve met Jaymi too,” Harry says.

“Oh, Jesus, I guess I’m useless then,” says Louis. “Just… pretend for my sake that you haven’t met the rest of them so I feel useful, deal?”

Harry laughs. “Deal.”

“That’s Eleanor, she plays clarinet too,” Louis continues, pointing her out. Harry’s met her too, but he keeps quiet. “Josh, the dude with the brown hair, he plays alto… who’s left… oh, Perrie! With the blonde hair over there. She plays flute. Yeah, that’s our house. We moved in in June when the seniors graduated because most of us had jobs here over the summer, and we’re only, like, 90% dysfunctional.”

Harry laughs. “It sounds fun, though. Living off-campus.”

“Wait ‘til you have to start doing your own dishes and laundry, though,” says Louis. “Then it’s not so fun.”

“Louis, you still haven’t done a load of laundry or run the dishwasher a single time, shut the fuck up,” Jaymi says from behind them.

“And why would I when I have six lovely roommates to do them for me?” asks Louis, making Harry laugh again.

“God, you’re the worst,” Jaymi grumbles, a note of fondness in his voice. Apparently everyone else in the house is just as gone for Louis as Harry is.

Harry shifts his mellophone case to his left hand to give his right arm a break. “So are you less hungover now?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, a little bit. We hadn’t drank all week so we, uh, we went a little hard last night. But I’m feeling better, yeah, thanks for asking. Zayn and I are still the reigning pong champions, so it was worth it.”

“Oh, nice,” says Harry. “I’ve never played before.”

“Aw,” Louis coos at him. “Such a freshman. That’ll change on Saturday, probably, ‘cause we’re having a party for the whole band and _everybody_ always wants to play pong.”

“Yeah, but I’ll probably suck compared to most people,” says Harry, now excited by the confirmation of the party.

“That’s alright,” says Louis. “Everybody has to start somewhere, dude. Have you, uh, have you had beer in other capacities? Like, did you drink in high school?”

Harry shakes his head. “This’ll be my first time on Saturday. Like, besides a glass of wine at dinner or whatever.”

Louis whistles. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on you, Harold.”

“I can take care of myself,” Harry bristles. “And my name’s not-”

“I said the same thing when I was a freshman, Harold,” says Louis, his mouth quirking up at the corner. “And I came out of a blackout at four in the morning locked in the bathroom of a Burger King after all the workers had gone home.”

“Seriously?” Harry gasps.

“Seriously. First band party’s always wild,” Louis smirks. “People made fun of me for it for _weeks_ afterward. At least they got to know who I was, though.”

Harry laughs. “God, I’m the same. I’m worried about becoming a nobody.”

 _“You?”_ Louis asks, looking over at him. “No, you’re Asthma Boy already.”

He laughs and slings an arm around Harry’s shoulder as Harry covers his face with his hands. “I don’t want to be Asthma Boy.”

“I didn’t wanna be BK Boy,” Louis shrugs. “Listen, you just start out that way and then people gradually get to know you for you, promise. The parties help a lot, too, with getting to meet different people.”

“Okay,” Harry grumbles slowly. Louis gives him another pat on the shoulder and then takes his arm back, making Harry miss the contact already. “So, BK Boy, huh?”

“Not so loud,” Louis hisses, but the damage is done. Near the front of the group where he’s talking to Liam and Zayn, Stan turns around and grins.

“What’s up, BK Boy?” he yells, making all the other upperclassmen start to laugh. “Is he telling you how he woke up in the dark with his cheek on the seat of a public toilet?”

“Look what you started,” Louis groans while Harry laughs along with the others.

xxx

That night, they finish up the last halftime run-through with applause, because - holy shit, they actually did it, they actually managed to pull together pregame and halftime in just a short week. Dr. Higgins gives them a very nice speech, one about how proud of it he is, and even though a lot of the formers roll their eyes about how long it drags on, Harry can see smiles pulling at their lips, like they’re trying to be apathetic but just can’t. They have a lot to be proud of as a band, after all, and there’s no reason they shouldn’t be happy about it.

“And a final congratulations on making it through the first week of band camp,” Dr. Higgins concludes. “None of you are newcomers here anymore, as far as I’m concerned. You’re all Marching Tigers from here on out.”

The band cheers again.

“Bus runs are at 10:00 tomorrow morning, so, leadership, you’re going to want to make sure your section has ample time beforehand to meet for dress checks.”

Harry sees Liam and Aiden nod.

“Now go home and get some rest. Again, I’m really proud of you as individuals and as a group. Really, you all should be giving yourselves pats on the back. Great job, everyone.”

With some more applause, rehearsal is over, and Harry goes over to pack up his mellophone with the rest of the section.

“Alright, I want a text from everyone at 9 am tomorrow to prove that you’re awake,” Aiden tells them, “and then we’re going to meet at the bus stop no later than 9:45 for dress checks. Be sure to triple-check yourself before you leave your dorm, though, because you’re not going to have a lot of time to run back to your dorm if you forget something.”

“I’ll make sure you’re good before we go tomorrow, Harry,” Liam tells him as the pair of them start to walk toward the truck where the drumline and sousaphones are putting away their instruments. “Putting on the whole uniform can be confusing the first time.”

They reach the truck, and Liam walks up to Zayn and slips an arm around his waist. Harry sees Zayn tense a bit before he seems to relax into it. “Still up for watching the first Batman tonight, babe?”

Zayn nods, wrapping a hand around Liam’s shoulder and then tentatively leaning into him. “I might fall asleep on you, though, m’dead tired.”

“That’s fine,” Liam says happily.

Zayn gives it a few more seconds before he’s leaning away and withdrawing his arm, leaving Liam to give his hip another squeeze before he draws his arm back as well.

“Let’s go, man, before my legs give out,” Zayn mutters. Liam walks with him across the field, and Harry waits for Niall to be done putting away his sousaphone before the two of them fall into step behind the pair.

xxx

“It’s _game daaaaaaayyyyy!”_

Harry startles awake, nearly falling off the couch as he sniffles and tries to figure out what’s going on. He hears a loud crash, then another, making him jump and draw the blankets tightly around himself.

“Everybody up! Get _up, it’s gaaaaame daaaaaaayyyy!”_

Now that Harry’s properly awake, he realizes that Louis is shouting and trying very hard to wake the whole house up in his excitement.

“What the fuck?” Niall mumbles from the couch next to him.

Louis makes more noise in the kitchen, banging on pots and pans and whooping happily. “Time to get up, time to get up, it’s game daaaaa-”

“Louis, what the _fuck?”_ yells Zayn, stumbling down the stairs.

“Morning, Zayn!” Louis yells cheerfully. “Did I wake you up?”

The rest of the people in the living room are starting to stir, and by this point Niall is laughing.

“I guess it’s as good a way to wake up as any,” he reasons as Zayn continues to scream at Louis.

“What _time_ is it?” asks Brian, one of the freshman bass drum players.

“It’s 9 am, time to get up!” Louis sing-songs from the kitchen. “Happy first game day, newbies!”

“Happy game day,” they all chorus back, starting to get up.

It’s a bit difficult coordinating the bathroom, given that there’s three bathrooms in the house and fourteen people trying to use them for their morning routines, but Harry eventually gets a turn and pees, washes his face, and brushes his teeth all in one go. For breakfast, he eats two of the granola bars that his mom left for him, and after that all that’s left is to get dressed into his uniform.

It’s difficult to do that, too, considering he’s never put it on by himself before and that he’s struggling for space in the cramped living room with three other confused freshmen.  Once he has the pants and jacket on, Harry puts on the brand-new marching shoes his mom had bought over the summer and Niall shows him how to put his spats on over them.

“Yeah, I marched all four years in high school,” Niall tells him as he snaps the white spats on over Harry’s shoes. “Otherwise I wouldn’t’ve known how to do it either.”

“Is that why you’re so used to the sousaphone?” Harry asks. “I’ve heard the other freshmen complaining about how heavy it is.”

Niall laughs. “Yeah, they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. Forty pounds of metal on your shoulders can suck if you aren’t expecting it.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” says Niall. “There you go, all done!”

Next, Harry puts on his white gloves. He hears footfalls on the stairs and seconds later Liam appears in the living room, all decked out in his uniform.

“Morning, guys!”

“Morning, Liam,” says Harry as the other freshmen murmur hello.

“Remember to put your baseball cap inside your shako so we’ll have something to wear on our heads when we’re in the stands,” Liam reminds them.

They all nod, and Harry fits the navy cap inside the shako before putting it on his head, tightening the chin strap until it fits.

“How do I look?” he asks Liam.

“Official,” says Liam happily.  “Okay, you have your gloves… you have your spats… I think you’re all set.”

Gradually, the rest of the house joins them in the living room, everyone fixing themselves and making sure they have everything.

“Come on, Louis, we’re waiting for you,” Zayn calls upstairs.

“Coming!” Louis’s muffled voice calls back. “This thing is just - fucking huge, sorry, I’m trying to figure out how to balance it on my head-”

Jaymi snickers.

Eventually, Louis comes downstairs, except he’s - oh, his uniform is _way_ different than the one the rest of them are wearing, shit. It’s almost all white except for the sparkly gold sash across the front, not a trace of navy in sight, and the shako he’s wearing is about twice the height of their regulation shakos. It’s also covered in gold, fuzzy material that makes him look like one of those guards at Buckingham Palace.

“Lookin’ good, bro,” says Stan.

Louis huffs. “I guess,” he says, reaching to grab his mace where it’s leaning against the wall. “It makes my ass look _huge_ , though, look at it.”

He turns around, and - oh.

Harry wonders how easily these uniforms hide a boner.

xxx

High-step sucks. High-step _really fucking sucks._

_“Presenting… the pride of the midwest…”_

The announcer’s voice isn’t even enough to distract Harry from the way his body is groaning and protesting against the athletic way he’s leaping onto the field.

_“...the best-loved band in the land...”_

The crowd cheers and Harry feels a little bit better, and after that it’s only 16 more counts until they plant their feet at attention, bringing their horns up so they can play the beginning fanfare.

_“...led by drum majors Leigh-Anne Pinnock from New York City…”_

Leigh-Anne does what Harry’s come to call the “drum major run” onto the field, leaning back almost forty-five degrees while she twirls her mace and keeps her legs moving in front of her.

_“...and Louis Tomlinson from Waukegan, Illinois…”_

The crowd cheers louder for him, probably because he’s from Illinois. Harry’s playing but he still watches Louis out of the corner of his eye, watches him leap across the field and tries not to get distracted.

_“...these are your 2014 Lincoln University Marching Tigers!”_

The crowd starts to clap rhythmically along with them, and with four snare hits from Zayn they’re off, glide-stepping down the field just as they practiced so many times during band camp.

Pregame goes off without a hitch for Harry, which he’s _super_ relieved about because he’d been plagued with a lot of nightmares about falling down or turning the wrong way and having the whole crowd laugh at him. When they exit the field with high-step Harry’s exhilarated, full of new energy after having completed his first pregame, and he makes sure to raise his knees extra high in celebration.

Their opponent today, Western Illinois University, isn’t in the Presidential League, which means this is a non-conference game. It’s one they’re expected to win - and win they do, although it’s a bit of an understatement. The first half, Lincoln outscores them 21 to 7, and after halftime (which the crowd _loves_ ) Lincoln scores another 10 points to make it 31 to 7 for the final score.

xxx

When the fourteen people currently/temporarily living in the band house return, it’s around 7:00.

“Mellos want to go out to dinner,” Liam informs Harry as they walk into the living room.

“Not before I shower,” Harry retorts.

“Oh my god, fourteen people using two showers,” Jaymi groans.

“Me, Zayn, and Perrie get first dibs on showers,” Louis shouts, shouldering past all of them. “We gotta go on a booze run before Binny’s closes at 8.”

No one argues, and Harry’s left to take off his sweaty uniform in the TV room with Niall.

“This thing smells gross and it’s only been one game,” Niall grumbles.

With nothing to do but wait for showers to open up, they sit downstairs and fiddle around on their phones. Fifteen minutes later, Louis and Perrie wander downstairs smelling like body wash. “I hope Zayn doesn’t take too long,” says Perrie, looking at her watch.

“I mean, I guess we don’t _really_ need him,” says Louis.

Perrie snorts. “No, I promise we do. I don’t have enough credit to buy all the alcohol we need and you’re not even allowed in the store.”

“You’re not 21 yet?” Niall asks.

Louis scoffs. “Excuse me, most juniors aren’t yet. But Perrie’s parents held her back from kindergarten for a year and Zayn has a fake that scans. I just drive the getaway car.”

Two minutes later, Zayn stumbles downstairs, his hair hastily slicked back after his shower. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

They file out of the house without a word, and Harry looks out the window to see them pile into the same beat-up red minivan, which apparently belongs to Louis.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry’s able to get a turn in the third-floor shower. After everyone’s showered and changed, a sense of calm falls over the house.

“Camila’s suggesting that new Thai place,” Liam informs Harry when he comes downstairs.

“Sounds good,” says Harry. “But, uh - is our stuff gonna be down here while the party’s going on? Because I can’t imagine the entire band fitting in here and _not_ stepping all over our stuff.”

Liam stares and scratches his head. “I - shit. Um. Let me go talk to Jaymi.”

He disappears, reappearing a minute later with Jaymi in tow. Stan comes down too.

“Shit, that _is_ a problem,” says Jaymi. He taps his chin with his finger. “I mean… the best thing I can think of would be to shove all your stuff in our rooms and, like, sleep on some pillows on the floor or something. Shit, sorry, I didn’t even think about this yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Niall shrugs. The other freshmen seem to agree.

Eleanor tells the clarinet freshman, Claire, that she can spend the night in her room, and the house makes an executive decision to stick Normani in Perrie’s room.

“You can share my room if you want, Niall,” says Stan.

Liam will be in Zayn’s room, obviously, and Jaymi tells the other clarinet freshman, Robert, that they can share a room.

“And then if Harry goes with Louis and Alec goes with Josh we should be all set,” Stan concludes. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, boys.”

“Sounds good,” says Alec, another freshman who’s been sleeping in the living room.

Harry gulps, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He feels excited and weird and creepy all at once, because for once he hadn’t even _tried_ to engineer something like this and it just happened. “You’ll have to show me where Louis’s room is, though.”

“Yeah, sure,” says Stan, waving him forward as Harry grabs his stuff. “It’s next to Zayn’s on the second floor.”

Stan lets him into Louis’s room and Harry tiptoes in, stepping over piles of clothes and dumping his stuff into an unassuming clean patch on the floor. It smells like equal parts weed and cologne in here, which is - god, it’s actually really nice. It’s messy as all hell but Harry likes it, wonders if he could maybe make a nest of Louis’s clothes on the floor and sleep on that for the night.

Either way, he thinks it would probably be creepy to be in Louis’s room when the other boy gets back, so Harry heads back down to the living room and plops down on the couch next to Niall, who’s returned as well.

“C’mon, Harry, let’s go to dinner,” says Liam. “We wanna be back by, like, ten at the latest.”

xxx

When Harry and Liam return from dinner, it’s around 9:45 and the house looks completely different. The pong tables have been restocked with fresh cups and cans of light beer, the couches have all been pushed into various walls for maximum standing room, and the TV has been taken off its stand and put behind one of the couches for safekeeping. The kitchen has been turned into a bar of sorts, with stacks of cups and shot glasses, bottles of soda, and handles of different types of alcohol completely filling up the counter space. There’s a keg in the corner that Harry guesses is for pong refills.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” says Louis from the corner, where he’s reorganizing the fridge. “I hear you made yourself comfortable in my room.”

Harry stammers. “I, uh - well, Stan said-”

Louis laughs. “No, no, it’s alright, I was just going to apologize for how messy it was.”

“Oh, you don’t - your room was fine,” Harry insists. “I’ll be back on the couch tomorrow morning, promise.”

Louis smiles at him, a small private smile that makes Harry flush all the way down to his toes, but before anything else can happen Zayn walks into the room and wedges two boxes of wine onto the already-crowded counter. “Alright, that’s the last of it.”

“Should we round everybody up for a toast?” asks Louis.

Zayn shrugs. “You can do it if you want, I gotta go set up the speakers in the basement.”

At 10, the fourteen of them crowd into the kitchen and the upperclassmen start pouring shots.

“If you’ve never drank before, you probably want vodka,” Louis tells Harry as they all start to talk over each other. “It’s a good, like, beginner’s liquor. Just make sure you have something to chase it.”

Once everyone has something to drink, Stan raises his shot glass and says, “To the first week of band camp being over.”

“Amen to that,” says Eleanor, throwing back her shot.

The rest of them do the same, and Harry shudders as the bitter liquid goes down, quickly chasing with fruit punch to cut the taste.

About ten minutes later, people start arriving. There’s a $5 cover charge for “all you can drink,” and Jaymi volunteers to take the first shift of standing at the door and collecting money. Zayn disappears into the basement to DJ the music playing on their makeshift dance floor, and the rest of them start to make themselves drinks.

“Just put a shot or two of vodka in a cup and fill the rest with soda or juice,” Liam tells Harry once Harry asks him. “That should be good to start, and don’t drink it too fast.”

Harry doesn’t _mean_ to ignore Liam’s last piece of advice, but as more people start arriving and the house starts filling up, Harry finds that the more he drinks, the more willing he is to start conversations with people and make new friends. And there’s so many people to meet that it’s not long before Harry’s cup is empty and he pouts down at it, frowning at the plastic white bottom.

“Aw, are you out?” asks the girl Harry’s talking to. Lauren, maybe? Yeah, it was Lauren. “Want to go get another drink with me?”

“Sure!” Harry says happily, letting her drag him back into the kitchen.

“Let’s take a shot first,” Lauren suggests, pouring them each a shot of rum and then handing one to him. Harry hasn’t had rum before, but it can’t be too different than vodka, right? “To freshman year!”

“To freshman year,” Harry echoes her, throwing it back. Oh, _Jesus,_ it burns in a completely different way, and Harry gags a little before he pours a bit of Sprite into a cup and chugs it down.

He makes the same drink he made before - a questionable amount of vodka plus fruit prunch and Sprite - and wanders back into the living room, observing the pong games that are taking place. Louis and Stan have been holding one of the tables since people started arriving, beating team after team and crowing loudly after each win. Right now they’re playing Leigh-Anne and Perrie, while at the other table there are four freshmen playing, none of whom Harry’s met yet.

Harry sidles over to Louis’s side of the room and watches as Louis and Stan play defense.

“Elbow, watch the elbow,” Louis snaps when Perrie tosses the ping-pong ball. It bounces off the rim of one of the cups and he sighs in relief.

Leigh-Anne tries to bounce the ball in shortly afterward but Stan slaps it away, whooping in triumph as he and Louis high-five.

“Can’t pull any of that shit with us,” Stan shouts loudly, swaying a little bit. “Me’n Lou are too good.”

“Damn straight,” yells Louis, throwing an arm around Stan’s shoulders. _“Harry,_ how are you, babe?”

“Alright,” says Harry, sipping at his drink.

“How many drinks have you had?”

Harry thinks. He… isn’t quite sure. He thinks three. Maybe four. “Four?”

“That’s not so bad,” says Louis.

“Harry, stop distracting him, it’s his turn to go,” Stan snaps. “We’ve got a table to defend.”

Harry blushes while Louis rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Stan, you’re so dramatic,” says Louis, tossing the ping-pong ball and grinning when it sinks into another cup. “Heating up! Anyway, I don’t see why _you_ aren’t majoring in theatre too.”

“Oh, _please,”_ says Stan, throwing his ping-pong ball and cursing when it misses. “You’re such a drama queen and you know it.”

Harry drifts away from them and ends up talking with Jade and Cher for a bit.

“Cher showed me this _awesome_ shot when I got here,” Jade tells him after a few minutes of conversation.

Harry shudders. “God, I hate shots already and I’ve only taken two.”

Jade shakes her head. “No, this one involves _chocolate sauce,_ I promise it’s amazing.”

“Are you guys talking about peppermint patties?” Cher asks.

Jade nods eagerly. “Yeah, you should give Harry one!”

“Harry wants a peppermint patty?” Cher yells excitedly. “To the kitchen, to the kitchen!”

Harry finishes the rest of his drink as he’s herded to the kitchen, figuring he might as well start fresh after whatever they’re going to make him drink. The kitchen is crowded, full of people mixing drinks and also standing around and talking, and while Cher darts away to grab whatever liquor she wants to give Harry, Harry notices that Niall’s standing in the corner by the keg.

“Hey, man!” he yells over at Niall, waving.

“Yo, Harry!” Niall yells back. “Glad you’re here for moral support, bro, I’m about to do a keg stand.”

“What’s a-”

Before Harry can finish his question, Niall braces both his hands on the keg and flips into a handstand, causing people to cheer. Boys on either side of him brace his legs up, and then Harry sees Jaymi fit the keg’s nozzle in between Niall’s lips and start to count.

“One! Two! Three! Four!...”

By 15, most of the kitchen has joined in, and Harry’s just standing there slack-jawed as he slowly starts to realize that Niall is literally _chugging beer upside down._

“Twenty! Twenty-one! Twenty-two!...”

People are starting to cheer as the count keeps increasing, and other people are poking their heads into the kitchen in interest. Harry starts to join in after his shock wears off.

“Twenty-five! Twenty-six! Twenty-seven!...”

Finally, at 30, Niall kicks his legs out and the boys let him down. The whole kitchen’s cheering at this point and Niall takes a bow after he lets out a giant burp and steadies himself.

“Thirty’s am _azing,_ oh my god,” Jade marvels. “Did you say he was a freshman?”

“Yeah, we’re rooming together for the year,” Harry says proudly. People are still clapping Niall on the back and shaking his hand. “D’you want me to introduce you guys?”

“Yeah, sure,” says Jade, looking starstruck.

By the time Harry’s called Niall over and gotten him and Jade talking, Cher has returned with a bottle of something called Peppermint Schnapps. “Get on your _knees!”_

Startled, Harry follows her orders, dropping to his knees and drawing several wolf-whistles from people trying to pass by. Jade and Niall start to cheer.

“Alright, I’m gonna pour the chocolate syrup first and then the schnapps, then you swallow, okay?” says Cher.

“Sounds good,” says Harry, feeling floaty and heavy all at once. The shift in level kind of made him realize that his muscles feel…. different. Relaxed.

“Open up,” Cher instructs, and Harry does as she says, ignoring cat-calls as she pours chocolate syrup into his mouth. He lets it sit on his tongue until he feels the schnapps start to hit as well, and - oh, it’s delicious, mixing with the chocolate like tasty peppermint toothpaste. When Cher’s done pouring Harry swallows happily, smacking his lips.

“I think he liked it,” Jade giggles.

“What d’you think?” asks Cher.

Harry pauses, considers. The feeling that’s coursing through him right now feels _really_ good, and he feels like giggling and dancing. “Can I have another?”

The girls and Niall burst into the laughter.

“Of course you can, hon,” says Cher, brandishing the chocolate syrup once more.

Two additional peppermint patties later and a fresh drink in his hand, Harry stumbles into the basement, wanting to see what’s going on on the dance floor. It’s a completely different atmosphere than upstairs, the lighting muted and subdued and the bass pounding, heavy. Zayn’s behind some sort of fancy equipment, a drink in his hand and a grin on his face as he mixes popular rap songs with trap beats.

“Hey, Zayn,” Harry says, swaying over happily.

“Hey, dude,” says Zayn. He appraises Harry and raises his eyebrows. “You doing alright?”

“Peachy,” says Harry, leaning on the DJ booth and swaying precariously.

“Careful, careful,” Zayn says quickly, batting Harry’s cup away from where it was about to spill on the equipment. “Jaymi’ll kill me if I let anyone get anything on his stuff. He just lets me borrow it and fuck around on it for parties.”

“Oh - I’m so sorry, Zayn, I’m so sorry-” Harry starts to babble.

“God, no, it’s fine, just - have a dance or two, alright?” says Zayn, giving Harry a gentle push toward the mass of dancing people. “And take care of yourself.”

“Will do,” Harry calls behind him, squirming between people until he’s carved out a space to dance.

He finds Normani and dances with her for a few songs, managing to spill about half of his drink on himself on the process and making her giggle. Then, he feels a new body slide up behind him and startles, trying to seal his lips to his cup to prevent any more from spilling out.

“Hey, stranger,” he hears Louis’s voice behind him.

Harry shivers pleasantly, making the connection in his drunk brain that these are _Louis’s_ hands on his hips, that Louis’s chest is currently pressed against his back. He can still taste chocolate on his tongue from the peppermint patties and wonders if Louis wants to taste it too. “Looooouis.”

“Aw, you’re too cute,” says Louis.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry asks absentmindedly, moving his hips to the beat and giggling when Louis tenses up. “Thought you wanted to, uh, hold the pong table.”

Louis sighs, stroking his hand down Harry’s arm. “Liam and Niall finally knocked me and Stan off our throne, so I came down here to see what was going on and Zayn told me you might need some looking after.”

Harry pouts. “Zayn’s mean. He doesn’t trust me.”

“Aw, babe,” says Louis. “You’re just a little drunk, is all.”

Harry shakes his head. “No’m not.”

Louis laughs. “Think you might be. C’mon, let’s go get some water.”

“Noooo,” Harry groans softly, even as he lets Louis drag him from the throng of dancing people. “Louis, I’m _fine.”_

“That’s what you say two hours before you end up locking yourself in Burger King,” says Louis firmly.

“Fine, I’ll - I’ll slow down,” Harry slurs as Louis leads him upstairs, away from the sexy bass of the dance floor and back to the conversational din of the first floor. “Just no water, please. Pleeeeease?”

Louis squints at him. “Fine. Just - yeah, just slow down.”

“Louis, is Harry your new partner?” Niall yells across the room. He and Liam still have the table, apparently. “‘Cause we’re waiting for another challenger.”

“No, Harry’s not my pong partner. He’s never played before,” Louis snaps.

Niall snickers, sloshing back more of his drink. “So - what I’m hearing is that you’re a pussy.”

“Niall-”

 _“Pus-sy,”_ Niall enunciates. Liam’s in tears next to him from laughing so hard.

 _“God,_ why does anyone put up with you,” Louis snaps. He grabs Harry’s arm and drags him over to the table. “Fine, Harry will be my partner. I hope you realize this means I have to drink for him too.”

“You don’t have to - to drink for me,” Harry insists. “M’fine.”

“Look at him, he can barely stand up,” Louis snaps at the other two boys.

“He looks fine to me,” says Niall.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’ll drink for you, Harry, seriously. Now - the only rule is that you can’t let your elbow extend over the table when you throw. Got it?”

Harry nods, engrossed.

“Alright, victors go first,” Liam crows, launching his ping-pong ball across the table. It sinks into one of the cups, and Louis groans and removes the pong ball, putting it into the rinsing cup and then drinking the cup of beer. Harry resolves to drink the next one.

Niall throws his and it misses.

“Here, watch me,” Louis tells Harry, grabbing a ball from the rinsing cup. He lines up his shot, keeps his elbow steady as he throws - and sinks the ball into the cup right in the middle.

“Yaaaaayyy, you got one,” Harry says excitedly, but he’s drowned out by Liam and Niall’s shouts of, “Bitch cup! _Bitch cup!”_

“What does bitch cup mean?” asks Harry.

Louis groans. “It means I have to take off my pants ‘cause I hit the bitch cup before any of the other ones. It’s the easiest one to hit ‘cause it’s right in the middle, so.”

He unbuttons his skinny jeans and drops them, causing Harry’s mouth to go dry because - oh, god, he’s wearing these tight boxer briefs and they’re _red_ and Harry can see - things - his ass looks so amazing-

Harry looks away quickly, suddenly feeling doubly as drunk, and looks across the table at Liam in panic. Liam catches his eye and starts laughing, clearly remembering that time that Harry was stupid enough to tell him about his crush, and Harry wishes he could melt into the fucking floor.

“Your turn, Harry,” Louis says from next to him, like he expects Harry’s world to keep spinning even after the outline of his ass cheeks in soft cotton completely ground it to a halt.

Harry doesn’t even bother lining up the shot, just makes sure his elbow’s behind the table and throws it.

It lands in a cup.

“Hey, good job!” says Louis elbowing him in the side. “Not bad for your first throw.”

“It’s a fluke,” one of the bystanders assures Niall and Liam. People have started to gather to watch their game, and Harry bristles and resolves to try and do better for Louis’s sake.

Liam misses on his next shot but Niall’s goes in, and Harry, desperate to prove himself, quickly puts the ball into the rinsing cup and drains the cup of beer before Louis can get to it.

“Harry, I thought-”

“I’m fine, I’m _fine,”_ Harry insists, snatching the ball back from the cup and tossing it across the table.

It lands in a cup.

“He’s heating up!” Louis shouts, grabbing Harry’s hand and raising it up. “He’s heating up, fuck y’all!”

Louis’s next shot misses, but as the game goes on, it becomes extremely apparent that Harry is more than capable of holding his own. He has to drink a fair amount of beer too, yes, and his stomach’s starting to get uncomfortably full, but he has to keep _going_ because people are watching him and judging him and - oh, they’re probably staring at Louis’s ass too, which makes Harry upset because only _he_ wants to be able to stare at Louis’s ass like that.

Eventually, it comes down to one cup each, which means they each have to be very precise. Liam and Niall both miss on their turn, and once Harry and Louis have rinsed the pong balls off, Louis turns to Harry and says, “Let’s end this, Styles.”

Harry nods agreeably, launches the ball across the table, and whoops as it lands in the cup.

 _“Yes!”_ Louis shouts, pulling Harry into a tight hug. Harry flushes and hugs him back, his head spinning and his stomach hurting but he’s _happy_ and he made Louis _happy_ so he doesn’t _care._

Louis takes his shot - and it makes it in as well.

“That’s game!” one of the onlookers calls.

Liam and Niall frown as Harry and Louis hug once more, dancing around happily before Louis finally pulls his pants back up. They shake hands with each other, Harry giggling once he sees that Liam and Niall seem genuinely upset.

“Want to take a victory shot?” he asks Louis.

He isn’t sure what Louis is going to say, but Louis is so pumped from winning that he yells, “Absolutely! Shots are definitely in order, you hustled them right from the start, dude! I’m so proud of you!”

They walk into the kitchen, their new fan club following them, and pour shots for everyone. Harry’s not sure what’s in his - he thinks the bottle said “tequila” but he isn’t sure - and Louis raises his shot glass up and says, “To Harry’s first game of pong!”

“Harry’s first game of pong!” the band echoes, some of them murmuring, “That was his _first_ game?” as everyone downs their shots.

As soon as he swallows, Harry knows immediately that something is wrong. The chocolate and beer and fizzy drinks and liquor in his stomach don’t like the taste of the tequila, and when he shudders as it goes down Harry seems to know instinctively that it’s about to come right back up.

He doesn’t have to tell Louis, because Louis seems to see it on his face.

“Harry?” the older boy asks questioningly.

“M’gonna - m’gonna-” Harry covers his mouth, looking around for a place to puke, and Louis grabs his arm, hurrying through the crowd in the kitchen and pushing open a back door.

“Here you go, come on, babe,” he says urgently, pulling Harry outside.

As soon as Harry’s feet hit grass his body seems to know it’s in the clear, and he bends over and immediately starts throwing up, his shoulders tensing in waves as his body rebels against all the different things he’s put in it in the last three hours.

“There you go, there you go,” Louis is saying, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “Get it all out, you’re alright.”

Harry throws up again, feeling miserable as he hunches over and tries to hide his face. Louis pats him on the back and then rubs over the same spot, murmuring kind words to him as his stomach empties.

Finally, it seems to be done, and Harry spits on the ground for good measure and wipes his mouth before he stands back up, humiliated and embarrassed to face Louis again. Louis is smiling, though, in a fond sort of way.

“All done?” he asks. Harry nods sheepishly. “No, no, that was good. Your body’s going to thank you for that tomorrow, I promise. _Now_ will you drink some water?”

Harry nods again, suddenly feeling very thirsty and tired.

“I think I want to go,” he murmurs to Louis as they make their way back inside.

“There’s nowhere to go, Harold, you live here now,” Louis says, smirking as he fills a red cup with water.

“No, like. To bed,” Harry says. His tongue feels heavy and it’s hard to get the words out.

“Alright,” Louis agrees. “That’s very doable.”

He hands Harry the water and Harry drinks from it greedily, letting Louis guide him through the crowd and up the stairs to the second floor.

“I can nest,” he tells Louis drunkenly as Louis ushers him into the bathroom.

“What? How much did you have to drink, anyway?” Louis laughs. “You should pee and then try again to tell me whatever you’re trying to say.”

After Harry comes out of the bathroom, he tells Louis again as they walk into the bedroom.

“No, like - a nest. Of your clothes,” Harry says slowly, pointing at the clothes on the floor.

Louis throws his head back and cackles. “Oh my god, that’s too good. No, Harold, you don’t have to nest on my dirty laundry. You can sleep in my bed as long as you take your shoes and socks off.”

“Oh,” Harry says quietly. He’s too tired to argue, though, so he strips off his socks and shoes quickly.

“You didn’t get any vomit on your clothes, did you?” Louis asks, inspecting him. “No, looks like you’re good. Alright, in you go.”

He pulls back his sheets and Harry crawls in gratefully, still sipping on his water. He still hears noises from downstairs.

“Is the party over?” he asks Louis.

Louis shakes his head, a smile on his face. “For you, yeah. You party hard, Styles.”

“At least m’not - passed out in Burger King,” Harry says, his eyes already drifting shut.

He hears Louis laugh. “Get some sleep, dude, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry smiles and tries to form the words “good night” with his lips, not sure if he’s successful as Louis turns out the light and slips out of the room.


	3. nobody else needs to know (where we might go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I received a couple of asks on tumblr about including more of the game-day experience for marching band, since many people aren’t familiar with what goes on behind the scenes, but this got kind of long in other areas so that’ll show up in the next chapter! This one has all of the good stuff you’ve come to expect from college AUs plus some freshman orientation, sexual tension, and another band party. Enjoy!

Harry wakes up disoriented, his mouth bone-dry and terrible-tasting, with his eyelids feeling like they weigh a hundred pounds each. He blinks them open with some effort, trying to figure out where he is when he realizes he’s on the edge of a bed in someone’s _bedroom,_ oh god, what did he do last night?

He rolls over carefully, afraid of what he might find behind him, but then all of last night’s memories come rushing back to him when he sees Louis sleeping on top of the covers, wrapped haphazardly in a fleece LU gold-and-navy blanket. Good _lord,_ Harry made an ass out of himself last night, and now that he’s sober again he feels ashamed of the fact that _Louis_ had to sleep on top of his own goddamn covers while drunk sloppy Harry made himself right at home in Louis’s own bed.

Louis is still asleep, though, laying on his back with his phone on his bare chest. A little stab of heat cuts through Harry’s belly before he reprimands himself for it - for fuck’s sake, Louis was nice enough to let Harry sleep in his bed and all Harry can do is ogle him when he’s asleep. Jesus. (He does have really long eyelashes, though, which Harry hadn’t noticed before.)

He tries to swallow but finds it difficult because his mouth is so dry, so his brain shifts gears and decides to start searching for water. No sooner has he located the cup placed on his nightstand (courtesy of Louis, no doubt, which makes Harry feel embarrassed and pleased all at once) and taken a sip out of it than Harry’s body alerts him to a far more pressing need - holy shit, does he have to pee.

Harry lurches out of bed, his head spinning momentarily from the sudden shift in level, and stumbles into the hallway, still wearing his rumpled clothes from last night. He makes for the bathroom, which is right next to Louis’s room, and is upset to find that the door is closed and locked, meaning that someone’s inside. Harry’s about to knock on the door and ask how long they’re going to be, but then he hears singing.

_“I’m-a take you there, I’m-a take you there, so don’t be scared ‘cause I’m right here, baby....”_

Harry presses his ear to the door, intrigued even as his bladder continues to scream in agony. He hears the faint sounds of a shower running as the singing continues, and he realizes with a start that there’s _harmonizing._

_“We can go anywhere, go anywhere, but first, it’s your chance, take my hand….”_

Harry almost wants to sing along - he _loves_ “Forever” - but he also feels like he’s about to pee his pants, so he waddles away, singing along softly as he makes his way up to the third floor and finds that bathroom blessedly unoccupied. As he takes what’s turning into the longest piss of his life, Harry puts two and two together and realizes that it was Liam and Zayn singing in the shower, unless maybe some other boy in the house had a random hookup sleep over and - no, you don’t sing love songs with random hookups. That was definitely Liam and Zayn.

It puts a smile on Harry’s face as he washes his hands, even though he feels like complete and utter shit. Zayn and Liam still make zero sense to him as a couple, but they seem to work together strangely well.

Harry’s prepared to continue singing “Forever” as he wanders back down to the second floor, but after more listening he discovers that the other boys have switched gears and are now singing “Don’t Matter” by Akon. Well, from what Harry knows of their voices, Liam’s the one singing the melody, and Zayn’s kind of riffing over him like an echo.

Harry smiles again and lets himself back into Louis’s room, closing the door behind him to find that Louis is awake, scrolling through his phone on the bed.

“Oh, hey,” says Louis, looking over at Harry and smiling. “I was hoping you didn’t run off during the night.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “No, just had to pee. I, uh - I’m really sorry about last night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis insists, his grin widening. “At least you threw up outside. An hour after you went to bed, one of the other freshmen threw up on Stan in the basement.”

Harry covers his mouth as he laughs. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, she’s on our shit list now,” says Louis. “It got created last night just for her, but I’m sure more people will join her before the season’s over.”

Harry laughs again. “How late were people here?”

Louis shrugs. “Til 3 or 4, I think. I came up here at 3. Are you up for good, or do you think you need more sleep?”

“Uh - I dunno. I’m not, like, _tired,_ but my body is,” says Harry.

Louis grins. “Baby’s first hangover. C’mon, get back in bed, I won’t bite.”

Try as he might, Harry still can’t resist wishing Louis was saying that in a very different context as he climbs back under the sheets, sighing in relief as he lays his head back down on the pillow and his body stops feeling like it’s going to fragment apart.

_“Nobody wanna see us together, but it don’t matter, no, ‘cause I got you…”_

“Do they always sing in the shower?” Harry asks after they spend a minute in silence on their phones listening to Zayn and Liam. “They’re, like, surprisingly good.”

Louis snorts. “Only when they think no one else’s awake. But they always end up waking me up ‘cause my room’s the closest to the bathroom.”

“Aw, I think it’s cute.”

“Yeah, tell me that again when they wake you up at three in the morning singing Usher.”

“Don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Harry says, rolling onto his side to get comfortable. He has to keep acting like this is normal, has to face the overwhelmingly depressing truth that he’s in bed with his crush and it’s in the least sexual way possible. Louis probably doesn’t see him that way, especially after last night, but it doesn’t stop Harry from wanting him.

“You never know,” says Louis, keeping his eyes on his phone.

It takes a few seconds for that to sink in, and when it does Harry does a double take that’s so obvious it makes the corner of Louis’s mouth quirk up even though he’s still looking at his phone. Harry’s trying to figure out what to say to that - and trying to ignore the way his heart’s started to race - when a loud banging resonates from the hallway that makes both of them jump.

“You guys better hurry up,” Harry hears Perrie shout as she bangs on the bathroom door. The singing abruptly stops. “Third floor bathroom’s full, first floor’s, like, literally unusable, and we have fifteen people in this goddamn house who’re about to wake up hungover.”

Harry hears muffled voices from the bathroom, and then Perrie replies, “No, dickhead, Max slept over and I’m not going to go barging into her room when they could be doing who knows what.”

“Who’s Max?” Harry asks Louis, the charged atmosphere of the moment before effectively broken.

“Eleanor’s boyfriend,” Louis replies, getting up off the bed and stretching. His sweatpants are sitting low on his hips, showing off the dimples at the bottom of his spine. “She has the master bedroom upstairs, which means that she has her own bathroom, but none of us ever think a shower’s worth risking interrupting anything.”

Harry laughs. “I guess it’s better to use the laypeople’s shower, then.”

“Exactly,” Louis snorts. “I’m gonna go get in line, though, because I think people are starting to wake up.”

He pulls off his sweatpants, leaving him in just the red boxer briefs he was wearing last night - the fact that Harry’s seen them before still doesn’t prevent his mouth from going dry - before wrapping a towel around his waist and slipping on a pair of flip-flops. Harry figures he should probably get in line too, so he stands up and strips off his shirt before walking over to his bag to grab a towel.

“Harry,” Louis says slowly before Harry can make it across the room, “I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think you have four nipples.”

Harry blushes, then decides to play it off by looking down at himself and exclaiming, “Oh, god! They must’ve sprang up overnight. I’m never drinking again.”

Louis cracks up. “You’re gonna be covered in nipples by the time you finish college at this rate.”

“Jesus,” Harry laughs, unable to stop himself from chuckling as Louis continues to cackle. “They’re not, like - they’re more like birthmarks than anything else.”

“So they’re not functional?”

“Functional, what do you - no, Louis, I can’t nurse from them like I can from the other ones,” Harry says sarcastically, smiling when his words make Louis continue to laugh. “I don’t even know what you’re asking.”

Louis quiets down, his face going a strange shade of pink as he continues to smile. “I, uh - nevermind, man, just wondering how many nights of drinking it’ll take until you’re mostly nipple.”

“You’re disgusting,” says Harry as Louis snickers and walks out of the room.

“I’m just curious,” Louis yells back, making Harry duck his head and laugh as he starts to take off his jeans.

xxx

When Harry gets out of the third floor shower half an hour later feeling slightly less like death itself, he makes quick work of finally brushing his teeth and then pads back down to the second floor. He spares a brief second to wonder if Louis is still in his room, hoping that there aren’t going to be any half-naked encounters (at least… ones that _don’t_ have a happy ending), before he hears voices coming from the living room downstairs.

“No, I didn’t.” It’s Louis...

“Bullshit.” ...talking with Zayn.

“No, I’m serious!”

Harry pauses with his hand on Louis’s doorknob to listen.

“That was like… silver platter, Lou, c’mon. That was the _perfect_ opportunity, I can’t believe-”

“He was _drunk,”_ Louis hisses. “Like, _really_ drunk, okay, I wasn’t about to-”

“Shit, I didn’t mean it that way,” says Zayn. “I meant, like - the fact that he was staying in your room, okay. Forgot he was smashed.”

Louis snorts. “Kind of the important part.”

It’s entirely possible that Harry isn’t breathing.

“You gonna try next weekend, then?” Zayn asks.

There’s a pause. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Zayn scoffs. _“Okay,_ man, whatever you say.”

Harry hears Louis make a frustrated noise. “Zee, like - I dunno, he’s. I dunno.”

“Louis.”

“Don’t look at me like-”

_“Louis.”_

Before Harry can hear anything else, the door to Zayn’s room opens and Harry nearly drops his towel with how fast he bolts into Louis’s room trying to make sure that Liam doesn’t see him. His heart’s fucking _racing,_ knowing he wasn’t supposed to overhear that, that there probably would have been _more_ to hear if he’d stayed in the hallway longer. Honestly, Harry kind of wants to press his face into a pillow and scream, but he’s still dripping wet from the shower so that might not be a good idea.

God, this is so _confusing,_ Harry thinks as he pulls on a pair of briefs. Because, assuming he’d interpreted correctly, the only reason Louis _hadn’t_ wanted to hook up with him was because Harry was drunk off his ass, but Louis isn’t sure about wanting to do it in the future, which - is it something Harry _did_ last night? He isn’t sure whether to take this as a good or a bad thing, but one thing’s for sure: Louis is, or was, at least somewhat interested in him, which means that Harry has a chance.

A smile pulls at his mouth even though he tries to stop it, and Harry instinctively grabs for his phone to text someone about it before he realizes he doesn’t know who to tell. His friends from back home don’t know who Louis is and don’t understand why Harry’s feeling so ridiculously lucky right now, but Harry doesn’t feel close enough with anybody here yet to rant to them about his crush except _maybe_ Liam, and Liam would tell Zayn and - yeah, no.

Ugh. Maybe he can text Gemma.

 ** _‘the cute drum major maybe likes me back!!!,’_** he texts her as he towel-dries his hair and grabs one of his t-shirts out of his bag.

She doesn’t respond, which is when Harry realizes that it’s 9 am on a Sunday where she is - he’d forgotten about the time difference - so he pulls on some jean shorts and slips his phone in his pocket just in time to hear the knock on the door.

“Hey, are you decent?” Louis asks.

“Except for my socks, yeah.”

Louis opens the door, laughing when Harry makes a show of scrambling to his bag to get his socks. “Just letting you know that a bunch of us are going out to brunch in five or ten minutes. You’re welcome to stay here and, like, not eat, but a good fatty breakfast and some coffee’s probably the best hangover cure I can think of.”

“Sounds good,” says Harry. “It’s not too far, is it?”

“Just a few blocks,” Louis tells him with a smile. “Hopefully you can make it that far, ‘cause the food’s really good.”

Harry snorts, blushing under Louis’s gentle teasing and then firing back, “Assuming it’s better than Burger King breakfast, I’m gonna be just fine compared to _some_ people as freshmen.”

“You have no idea how much I regret telling you that,” Louis groans.

xxx

The Eggshell Cafe is somewhat small but not at all crowded, which is good for when Eleanor walks up to the hostess and says, “Table for seventeen, please.”

There’s the fourteen of them staying/living in the house, plus Eleanor’s boyfriend Max, whom Harry got to meet and talk to on the walk here, plus two freshmen who had passed out on couches downstairs and woken up confused and disoriented. All in all, they’re kind of a collective hot mess, and the smell of fresh coffee makes more than one of them visibly perk up.

Harry ends up squeezed in between Stan and Niall across from Perrie.

“How was your night?” Niall asks him as they open their menus. “After you were a dick and completely hustled us at pong. And before then, too, I guess.”

Harry laughs. “I _promise_ that was my first game, dude, I wasn’t trying to hustle anyone!”

“Empty words,” Niall hisses at him.

“Oh my god, I saw that,” Stan chimes in. “Y’know what, Harry, at first I was a little jealous - no, don’t look at me like that, pong-partner jealousy is totally a thing - but then I got to the point where I just wanted somebody to beat Liam and Niall, so good for you.”

“Thanks,” Harry says tentatively as Niall continues to grumble. “But, uh - my night kind of ended after that, Niall, because after that last tequila shot I threw up out back and then Louis made me go to bed.”

Niall cracks up. “Classic.”

“Why, how late were you up?” asks Harry.

“Not much later, I guess,” says Niall. “Danced with Jade a little bit downstairs - she’s _cute,_ by the way, thanks for introducing us-”

“She has a boyfriend,” Harry says disapprovingly.

“ _Shit,_ really?”

Harry nods.

“God, I would - not have guessed that,” Niall says carefully.

“Who has a boyfriend?” Perrie asks from across the table.

“Jade,” says Harry. “She’s the freshman girl who plays mello.”

“Not to be a downer, but high school relationships don’t tend to last very long in college,” says Perrie. “Long distance?”

“Boston College.”

Perrie winces. “Yeah, that’s - well, good luck to her, I guess.”

“I don’t even have to see Niall’s face to know that he’s grinning like an idiot,” says Stan from Harry’s other side.

“Guys, stop it,” says Harry as Niall and Stan high-five over his head. After only a week he considers Jade one of his closest friends at Lincoln, and he isn’t about to watch people try to sabotage her relationship.

Luckily, the waiter chooses that moment to arrive and take their orders. Harry orders bacon and eggs with a side of pancakes and a tall glass of orange juice - he doesn’t really drink coffee, and whenever he does it always seems to make him thirstier, which is _not_ what he needs right now.

“You know, I had a boyfriend when I came to college, too,” says Perrie as the waiter collects their menus.

Stan bursts out laughing, and Harry’s immediately intrigued.

“What happened?” asks Niall.

“All it took was a few weeks for me to realize that I liked girls better,” Perrie says, smirking. “I kinda felt bad about it at first, but at least I broke up with him before I _actually_ cheated on him.”

“That’s the important thing, you know,” says Stan. “You gotta know when to break it off. Don’t look at me like that, Harry, I _promise_ it’s most likely going to be a question of ‘when’ instead of ‘if.’ That’s just how it goes in college.”

“See, that’s life, dude,” says Niall, looking far too smug.

“Yeah, but you can’t, like - you have to wait for it to happen, if it’s going to,” Harry insists. “You shouldn’t, like, instigate anything.”

Niall holds his hands up. “I’m not gonna, promise. But, I, uh - I’m pretty sure she knows I’m interested.”

“Jesus.” Harry doesn’t want to know.

He leaves it at that, shifting to let the waitress bring coffee to the majority of the table and wondering how Jade feels about this whole thing.

xxx

The group walks back to the band house later after brunch is done and they’ve all handed cash to Perrie to pay the bill. There’s major clean-up to do back at the house, something Harry hadn’t noticed early because of how hungry and hungover he was, but - good _god_ the first floor is a mess. There are plastic cups all over the floor, somebody overturned what was left of the keg after Harry went to sleep so there’s a sizable puddle of beer on the tiled floor in the kitchen, there’s puke clogging the first-floor toilet _and_ the bathroom sink, puke in the _kitchen_ sink, broken beer bottles by the couches, and the floor everywhere is vaguely sticky underfoot from some combination of soda, beer, chocolate syrup, and schnapps. No one’s even ventured to look in the basement yet but it can’t be good, considering that a lot of drinks were spilled just during the three songs Harry spent there, somebody definitely tried to pole dance if he’s remembering correctly, and there’s all of Jaymi’s DJ equipment to put away.

“Don’t think you guys are getting off easy,” Stan barks as the two nameless freshmen try to slink away. “You slept over, now you have to help us clean up.”

Zayn takes them to the basement with a scowl on his face and also recruits Eleanor, Max, and Josh to help as well.

“Oh my god, it was so awkward sleeping in Eleanor’s room last night,” Harry hears Claire, the clarinet freshman, tell Normani as the three of them are assigned to the kitchen. “I went up at, like, two to go to sleep and she stumbled in with her boyfriend an hour later and they made out on their bed for a _long_ fucking time before they remembered that I was there.”

“That’s the worst,” Normani sympathizes. “Perrie was cool, though, we stayed up for a long time talking about sexuality and feminism and stuff. I think I kept repeating myself ‘cause I was so drunk but she wasn’t weird about it or anything, at least from what I remember.”

“Aw, I’m jealous,” says Claire.

“I’m sure Eleanor’s cool too,” says Normani. “Didn’t she say she was double-majoring in political science and gender studies?”

“Yeah, she is, and, like - I’ve talked to her a lot before, since she’s my section leader and all,” says Claire. “It was just last night that was super weird.”

Normani nods. “How was your night, Harry?”

“It was alright,” Harry says, holding open a trash bag for the other two girls to load up with used red Solo cups. “It ended kind of early ‘cause I went too fast and Louis made me go to bed.”

The girls both laugh. “I think I remember someone telling me you threw up outside,” says Normani.

Harry groans. “How does everybody _know_ everything?”

“There aren’t any secrets in band,” says Liam, breezing into the room with some toilet bowl cleaner that he promptly squirts into the sink. “No one judges, though, I mean - dude, everyone throws up once in a while. _Much_ weirder things happened last night.”

“Like what?”

Liam grins. “Well, a couple football players showed up _super_ late ‘cause they were walking by to go home and heard the noise.”

“Oh my god, really?” Claire squeals.

“Yeah, Craig Van der Haals and Kane Prater,” says Liam. Harry remembers hearing both of their names over the loudspeaker at some point during yesterday’s game. “Turns out they’re living practically next door, so they made friends with Zayn and Louis. We’re really the only people on campus right now, you know - us and the athletes. Til tomorrow, that is.”

“You have to invite them to the next band party,” Normani insists, mopping up some spilled tequila off the counter.

Liam shrugs. “Not my call but I’m sure Lou’ll want to.”

He flicks on the faucet and turns it all the way to hot, frowning as the sink makes a repulsive squelching noise before finally all of the water and vomit starts to drain.

“Thank fuck, thought I was gonna have to go out and buy Drano.”

They keep cleaning the kitchen; Harry has to leave once to throw the full garbage bag in a dumpster out back before brandishing a fresh one for further cleaning, also helping out by stepping on paper towels to mop up the veritable lake of beer.

“Is Louis nice?” Claire asks him after a while. “He seems nice.”

“Yeah, he’s really nice,” says Harry, trying to decide what to say. “I mean, I think he’s nice to everyone because he’s just that kind of person. And he let me play beer pong with him yesterday, which was super cool ‘cause we won, and he _also_ let me sleep in his bed-”

“Ooooh,” Normani sing-songs.

Harry blushes. “No, not like - it wasn’t like that, I was just-”

Claire cackles as Normani interrupts, “We _know_ why you were staying there, silly.”

“You need to work on your poker face, though,” says Claire. “It’s way too easy to make you blush.”

“Oh god,” Harry groans.

“He _is_ cute, though,” says Normani. “I don’t blame you at all.”

“Don’t blame me for what?”

“Oh my god, don’t make me say it.”

Harry gulps. “Is it, like… is it really obvious?”

Claire shrugs. “I really only started talking to you today and it took me about five minutes to figure it out, so - maybe only to anybody who talks to you ever.”

Well, that’s comforting. Before Harry can be any more thoroughly embarrassed, thankfully, Liam comes back into the room with a garbage bag full of more cups and foul-smelling paper towels. “Any more garbage to take out? I’m going out to the dumpster.”

“I have this bag, but I’ll go out with you,” says Harry, ignoring the way Normani and Claire giggle behind him as he escapes his interrogation with his dignity only mostly shattered.

xxx

They have the entirety of Sunday off from practice, so the day is theirs to do with as they please. As Harry and Niall move their stuff back downstairs, Harry asks him if he wants to go to the lake and maybe toss around a frisbee on the grass.

“Sure, bro,” says Niall. “The view of the city’s sick out there. D’you have one?”

“One what?”

“A frisbee.”

“Oh,” says Harry. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Not exactly.”

Niall snorts and flops onto the couch, turning the TV on and settling on HGTV.

Stan wanders into the TV room a few minutes later, joining Harry and Niall on one of the couches as they watch reruns of Househunters International.

“Hey Stan, do you know if anyone in the house has a frisbee?” Harry asks him.

“I have one somewhere,” says Stan. “And I know Lou has one too. Why, you up for playing Ultimate or something?”

“No, I’m not coordinated enough for that,” Harry snorts. “I was thinking I might want to go out to the lake and just toss it around, I dunno. Mostly just to be out by the lake because I’ve never seen one that big before and it’s still kind of blowing my mind.”

Stan laughs. “Yeah, I can find you a frisbee for that. I might go with you, too, s’probably better than just sitting on my ass all day in this puke-y house.”

He disappears back upstairs to find a frisbee, and when he returns he has Louis, Liam, Zayn, Perrie, and Jaymi with him.

“They all wanted to come to the lake too,” Stan explains. “Unless you guys just wanted to do, like, roommate bonding or something.”

“The more the merrier,” says Niall, stretching. “D’you know where the rest of the freshmen are?”

“I know at least Normani and Claire are on the porch,” says Perrie. “Aw, this is gonna be like a house bonding trip, isn’t it?”

“I feel like such a freshman,” Zayn mumbles as they wander outside to find Claire, Normani, and Robert sitting on the porch.

“Just ‘cause you’re hanging out with us? Low blow, dude,” says Niall.

Zayn shakes his head. “No, just the whole, like, big groups thing.”

Louis laughs when all the freshmen look confused and tells them, “That’s true. Freshmen do go _everywhere_ in groups of at least ten people because they’re terrified of spending time by themselves and being left behind.”

“The freshmen in band don’t seem that way to me,” says Robert.

“I just mean the general class,” Louis amends. “Once the rest of your class gets here for orientation tomorrow, you’re going to start viewing them as _freshmen,_ too, just ‘cause you already have a week of college life under your belt and know where things are on campus.”

Oh, that’s - right. Harry had kind of forgotten that the band kids and the athletes aren’t the only people who go to school at Lincoln, and that the rest of the student body has yet to arrive. As much as he’s excited for the prospect of more new friends, he doesn’t quite want a huge group of new people to arrive and disrupt the quiet, delicate balance of the campus that he’s come to know.

He makes sure to really take it all in, then, as they walk to the lake - the sun on his face, the clean sidewalks, the unhurried way they’re moving as a group, all the time in the world.

The lake is just as pretty as Harry remembered it, sparkling under the sun, and it’s a clear day so they’re all treated to a view of the Chicago skyline.

“It’s too hot _not_ to swim,” Louis declares, stripping off his shirt in one fluid motion as he reaches the rocks that separate the field from the lake. “C’mon, Liam, I’ll race you.”

“You’ll never win!” Liam shouts, both of them stripping off their clothes as fast as they can until they’re down to their underwear. Harry pointedly looks away, blushing, even though he’d basically seen Louis like that this morning - he looks even more gorgeous in the sunlight and Harry would rather not embarrass himself.

He only looks back when he hears a huge _splash_ signalling that both Liam and Louis have jumped into Lake Michigan. Other guys are taking off their clothes too, eager to cool off, but Harry wore white briefs and there’s no way in hell he’s getting them wet around all these people that he’s only known for a week. His high school friends, sure, but these people haven’t quite earned his trust and nudity yet.

Normani, Claire, and Perrie aren’t partaking in the impromptu swimming session either, which Harry completely understands. Soon enough, the only people left _not_ dicking around in the lake are Harry, the girls, and Zayn, who’s settled himself against a nearby tree in the shade and pulled out a small Moleskine from his back pocket.

“You’re not going swimming?” Normani asks Harry.

“Nah, I wore tighty whiteys,” Harry grimaces, laughing as the girls’ faces change in understanding. “What about you, Zayn?”

Zayn looks up and shakes his head. “Nah, can’t swim.”

“What?” Harry asks, dumbfounded. He’s never met someone who can’t swim.

“I never learned how to swim,” Zayn repeats slowly, his eyes unreadable as he pulls a pen out and turns back to his notebook. “It’s not my thing anyway.”

Harry lets it go, still a little nervous about talking to Zayn directly because he seems so intimidatingly cool, and turns back to the girls. “You guys wanna toss around a frisbee, then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They pass the afternoon like that; it doesn’t take Harry long to realize that he’s the worst at throwing the frisbee out of the whole group. The guys in the lake eventually get out and most of them stretch out on the bigger rocks, trying to sun themselves to dry off. Liam traipses over to Zayn instead, dripping wet with his black boxers plastered to his body.

“Whatcha drawing?”

“Stop, you’ll get it wet,” Zayn scowls, holding his notebook out of reach as Liam leans over him to peer at it. Liam ignores him, plopping down right next to him and wrapping a wet arm around his shoulders. _“Liam,_ god, you’re the worst.”

“No’m not,” says Liam, throwing his other arm across Zayn’s chest to pull him into a sopping wet hug. Zayn yelps and tosses the Moleskine away before any water can get on it, then settles into Liam’s arms with a grumble after a glance at his surroundings.

“What were you drawing?”

“Not gonna tell you now,” Zayn mumbles, shivering a little bit. His hands are still folded in his lap. “Jesus, you’re cold. You need to dry - _no,_ stop, don’t put your back against the tree, you’ll get it all dirty. You’re already covered in grass. Disgusting.”

“S’not a big deal.”

“Yes it is, you’re gonna have to take another shower when we get back.”

Liam leans in to whisper something in Zayn’s ear that makes Zayn squirm and grin a little.

“Shut the fuck up,” he manages eventually, his cheeks pink. “We’re not - no. Come _on,_ you have to dry off on the rocks.”

“Come with me?” Liam asks quietly.

After a second, Zayn nods, gently knocking his forehead against Liam’s before they both get up. Harry still doesn't understand them, but he thinks they're cute.

The group walks back to the house when the sun starts to fall behind the buildings and trees to the west.

“So the sun rises over the lake, then?” Harry asks Louis, who he’s ended up walking next to. No complaints on his end.

Louis nods. “It’s kind of a bitch to get up that early, but you should definitely put watching the sunrise on your Lincoln bucket list. It’s really, really beautiful, reflects off the lake and shit. Romantic, too.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks playfully, shoving his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t do anything drastic like reach for one of Louis’s.

“Mhmm. Very,” says Louis, glancing over at Harry with a small smile on his lips. “It’s how Liam and Zayn first got together, actually.”

“Aw, that’s cute.”

Louis smirks. “Not sure how much of the sunrise they actually ended up watching, but I’m informed that it was conducive to other activities.”

xxx

An hour later, after they’ve arrived back at the house and showered, napped, or watched more TV, some of Louis’s roommates start getting dinner ready and Harry realizes that he doesn’t know what he’s going to have for dinner.

“D’you wanna just order a pizza?” Niall says when Harry asks him.

“Sure.”

“I want in on that,” says Robert, brandishing his wallet.

Soon, all seven of the freshmen staying in the house have decided on the three pizzas that they’re ordering, and Harry wanders into the kitchen to ask any of the upperclassmen if they want in.

Stan’s at the stove cooking what looks to be Kraft Dinner, Perrie has chicken cooking in a pan while she prepares a large salad, Josh is popping some leftovers into the microwave, and Louis is pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Zayn, Liam, Jaymi, and Eleanor are nowhere in sight.

“Louis, do you want in on the pizza we’re ordering?” Harry asks him, figuring the other three are good for dinner.

Louis shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’m all set. This is dinner.”

He holds up his bowl of Cocoa Puffs.

“Just that?” Harry asks, horrified.

“Well, probably a second bowl, too,” says Louis, pouring some milk over it.

“Do you usually have cereal for dinner?” asks Harry.

“Yes,” Perrie, Josh, and Stan answer simultaneously.

“Or ramen,” Louis says, slightly defensive. “And only when Zayn isn’t around to cook for me.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost twenty-one,” Stan mutters.

“Where’s Zayn?”

“He and Liam went out for dinner,” Louis answers Harry. “Usually I just pay, like, a third of his grocery bill and he cooks dinner for both of us. He’s pretty good, too.”

Harry snorts.

“Don’t you go judging me,” Louis says as they walk into the living room. “You probably can’t cook either.”

“Actually, I’m pretty good,” Harry informs him with a grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’ll have to show me sometime,” says Louis, slurping on some of the milk from his cereal.

Harry flushes. Are they flirting? They’re definitely flirting. It's mutual. Holy shit, this _thing -_ whatever it is - is mutual.  “Well, someone has to teach you how to cook eventually.”

“Lord knows Zayn’s tried,” Louis laughs.

“Guess he’s not good enough.”

Louis laughs again, delighted, as he starts to walk up the stairs with his bowl of Cocoa Puffs. “Mmm, not at all. Think I need someone who’s a bit more hands-on.”

He disappears up the stairs before Harry can say anything else - not that he has anything else to say, because his brain has suddenly stopped working. Harry turns back to the freshmen, who have heard their whole conversation, to find that they’re all staring at him. Niall’s mouth is slightly open. Shit.

“Did you guys hook up last night?” he asks point-blank a few seconds later.

“No,” Harry answers quickly, hoping Louis is already sequestered in his room and that he didn’t hear that.

Niall snorts. “Jesus, could’ve fooled me.”

Harry sits down on one of the couches as Robert pulls his phone out to order the pizzas.

“Do you know if anyone _actually_ got some last night?” Normani asks, changing the subject. Bless her. “I wonder if this band is as sexually frustrated as my high school one.”

Niall starts telling them about the two people he saw making out against the speakers while Zayn tried furiously to shove them away, and Harry’s body starts to relax from the frazzled, excited state Louis had unintentionally (or maybe not) worked it up into.

xxx

After everyone’s had dinner and Liam, Zayn, and the rest of the missing upperclassmen have returned to the house from their respective dinners, the house as a whole decides to watch the new _X-Men_ movie to top off the night. Harry ends up wedged between Niall and Perrie on one of the comfy couches, sipping on a surprisingly tasty Blue Moon beer Louis had handed him, and as he watches the action on the screen and listens to the gasps and jokes being cracked all around him, he can’t help but think that his first week of college was a rousing success. He can’t wait to see what the rest of the year brings.

xxx

In the morning, Harry, Niall, and the rest of the freshmen plus Liam have to move their stuff out of the house and into Aspen, newly finished from construction. The general freshman class will be arriving this afternoon, but they have band practice so they have to do it now.

“We only have, like, five or six hours of practice a day this week instead of however many thousand we had last week,” Louis tells them as they load their stuff into his van. He’d graciously agreed to haul their things over to Aspen while they themselves walk.

“Thank fuck,” says Niall, heaving one of his bags into the trunk. “I was getting burned out from those long days, bro.”

“Well, it’s more time for you guys to make friends and more time for the rest of us to get hammered,” says Louis.

They all laugh.

“Works for me!” Niall says cheerfully.

When Harry and Niall move into their room, they discover that it has two bunk beds; after a coin toss, Harry starts making the top bed while Niall whoops with glee and flops down onto the bottom bed.

“I already know I’m going to fall out of this at least once,” Harry grumbles.

They spend the morning getting their stuff moved in, then head to Emory for lunch. Harry lugs his mellophone along with him, knowing that they’re going straight to practice afterwards. He and Niall sit with some of the other freshmen and talk about their weekends and Saturday’s party.

At practice, Dr. Higgins informs them that this week’s show is going to be The Beatles-themed, and Greg and Nick pass out arrangements of “Hey Jude,” “Hard Day’s Night,” “Twist and Shout,” “Can’t Buy Me Love,” and “All You Need Is Love.”

“We’re going to really need to get after these over the next two days,” Dr. Higgins tells them. “Most of the student body is already going to be on campus for the game on Saturday, so the crowd’s going to be bigger and our show needs to be bigger as well. I want these tunes memorized by tomorrow night so we can start drill on Wednesday, so I’m going to give you a lot of time in sectionals today to start working on them.”

Greg works with the mellophones in sectionals, helping them through particularly tricky parts in “Hard Day’s Night” and “Hey Jude.”

“You’re getting stuck halfway up the scale because you’re not moving your fingers fast enough,” he says when they repeatedly fail at playing a run in “Hard Day’s Night.” “You have to move your fingers faster.”

They stare back at him.

“No,” Greg says pleadingly. “No. Please.”

“...That’s what she said,” Liam finally says, making the rest of them dissolve into giggles.

“I don’t deserve this,” Greg says to no one in particular.

xxx

That night, the rest of the freshmen move into Aspen and Harry and Niall venture into their hallway to make friends with the rest of the guys on their end of the floor. Liam gathers them all together in one of the lounges for a floor meeting, explaining that he’s going to be their RA for the year and outlining some ground rules for etiquette and use of common spaces.

“And I’m passing out a roommate agreement that I’d like you all to sign and return to me by the end of the week,” Liam says, giving a large stack of papers to the boy sitting next to him, “so just go over that with your roommate and make sure you’re in agreement on things and have an understanding of what is and isn’t okay. There isn’t any need for passive-aggression this early in the year, and I’m hoping this’ll help.”

They all chuckle.

After another hour of socializing, Harry and Niall head back to their room for the night, looking over the roommate agreement and deciding that unannounced sexiling can only happen a maximum of twice per month and that the lights need to be out (in the room, at least) by 2am. They shake on it, giggling, and Harry counts himself extremely lucky that he managed to land such a great roommate.

xxx

“Oh - _oh,_ Harry, you’re so big, oh _god.”_

Harry groans and shifts his grip on Louis’s hips, holding on a little more tightly and biting his lip as Louis rides him. Louis is _gorgeous,_ tan all over with his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, and Harry has to put all of his energy into not coming too soon.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his eyes rolling back at the tight clench of Louis’s body around his cock. “Oh, fuck, you feel so good-”

“Baby, _uhh,_ I’m so close,” Louis moans, clutching at his own hair with one hand and arching his back, exposing the long line of his neck - Harry wants to _bite_ it. Louis is moving faster now, his knees planted into the bed as his thighs squeeze around Harry’s hips and his mouth drops open. “God, fuck me, c’mon-”

Harry scrambles to do as he’s told, rocking his hips up and fucking in and out as he tries desperately not to come. He’s in _heaven,_ the tight grip around his cock making his head spin, and it’s all he can do to keep moving his hips, keep making Louis gasp and shake above him.

Louis grits out another moan, tugging on his hair even harder as he brings his other hand to press into his tummy, like he can _feel_ Harry that deep, and it’s so hot that Harry curls his toes into the sheets as he feels his orgasm start to twist inside him.

“So big,” Louis moans again, starting to falter in his rhythm as Harry picks up speed. Harry grins, smirking a little and smoothing his hands up and down Louis’s waist as he bounces the other boy on top of him. He thrusts up particularly hard and Louis wails, _“Shit -_ oh, _shit,_ yeah, right there, baby - _baby,_ god, m’gonna come, don’t stop-”

Harry feels Louis squeeze around him and that’s _it,_ fuck, he’s coming in-

-in his boxers as he gasps awake.

Harry slowly realizes that it was a dream even as he shudders through the rest of his orgasm, fisting both hands in his sheets and humping up helplessly into empty air. His mind is still whirling with wisps of images from his dream, the way he’d dreamt up Louis’s gasps and groans from sitting on his cock, and - shit, Harry is a good person, okay, so why is the universe torturing him like this?

He’s especially thankful that he’d gotten in the habit of wearing boxers to bed over the summer in preparation for having a roommate, because normally he sleeps naked and this would mean that he’d have to clean his sheets. Speaking of his roommate, Harry listens carefully and hopes that he hadn’t woken Niall up with whatever noise he might have been making.

A minute later and all Harry can hear are Niall’s soft snores, which are very reassuring. He climbs out of his bunk bed and pads into the bathroom, uncomfortable in his sticky boxers as he pees and then cleans himself off with some toilet paper. Back in his room, he changes into a fresh pair of boxers and climbs back onto his bed, snuggling under the covers and sighing deeply as he tries to think of nice, calming, non-sexy things to fall back asleep.

xxx

The first day of freshman orientation is…. awkward, to say the least.

Harry’s discovered that he’s already over it - the whole small-talk, desperate-for-friends thing - because he went through it a week ago, and now that he has a whole group of people he fits in with, he’s not especially interested in making friends with people he has less in common with. He shoulders through it, though, sits through talk after talk by university officials and overexcited student volunteers about how wonderful Lincoln is (yawn), the school code of academic conduct (yawn), a panel on preventing sexual assault (useful and important), and a panel on how to be safe if you choose to drink (too little too late). And that’s just the first day, meaning that they wrap up the day by taking pictures for their brand-new student IDs and receiving instructions to report to the lawn in front of the student center at 9am sharp tomorrow morning.

“At least we can eat in whatever dining hall we want now that we have IDs to swipe with the meal plan,” says George as they walk to practice together. They’d had to carry their mellophones with them all day because they weren’t going to get a chance to walk back to their dorms in between mandatory dinner with their randomly-assigned “new student groups” and night practice.

“That’s true,” Harry shrugs. “My dorm has one on the first floor, which is gonna be really good for winter, I think.”

“Oh, you’re lucky,” says George. “That sounds like a good deal.”

They chatter more about orientation, and Harry discovers that George has similar complaints about already having band friends and not needing new ones.

“Maybe it’s universal for band kids,” says Harry. “S’not like I’m antisocial or anything, but, like - there’s already this 200-person friend group that I’m trying to get to know, so I don’t want anyone else on my plate right now.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

xxx

A few nights later, when Harry has just finished another exhausting day of orientation and band practice (they’d started to put the Beatles drill to music and it’s really hard stuff), he gets a Facebook message from Louis, who he’d friended over the weekend.

**_‘Were you serious about coming over sometime to cook me dinner?’_ **

Harry blanches, then swallows, then does a mental victory dance, then remembers that Facebook messages send read receipts and he’s now obligated to respond in a timely manner.

**_‘Yeah of course!’_ **

He hopes that doesn’t come across as too eager, but Harry can’t quite help himself.

**_‘Ok… because Zayn’s making a huge salad for dinner tonight like JUST a salad and I hate salad.’_ **

Harry laughs.

**_‘Sounds like Zayn has it out for you lol’_ **

**_‘Harold I am going to STARVE and all you can do is make jokes’_ **

**_‘So you want me to come over and make you dinner?’_ **

**_‘....I mean you can make some for yourself too……..’_ **

Harry laughs again.

**_‘What do you have? For ingredients’_ **

Louis doesn’t reply for about five minutes, and it makes Harry nervous and worried. He busies himself on Yik Yak for the meantime, an app his sister told him about and that he already _loves_.

Finally, Louis responds in a series of messages.

**_‘Well like I told you I don’t cook, so don’t judge me…._ **

**_I have some frozen chicken breasts my mom made me buy at the beginning of the summer_ **

**_also a pack of bacon_ **

**_cocoa puffs, obviously_ **

**_also ramen, and shredded cheese that i sometimes mix in with it to make it fancy_ **

**_also instant mashed potatoes_ **

**_that’s about it.’_ **

Harry thinks, then figures out a way they can make a decent meal without incorporating cereal _or_ instant noodles. Score.

 ** _‘If you take the chicken out of the freezer now we won’t have to microwave it too much when I come over :)’_** he messages Louis, running a hand through his hair and smiling at his phone screen.

**_‘Harry Styles you are my new lord and savior’_ **

Harry grins. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Louis first messaged him and his face is starting to hurt, honestly.

His phone buzzes with another message.

**_‘I just took the chicken out. Not to rush you but I’m kind of hungry so like…. whenever you want to come over is fine with me…..’_ **

xxx

When Harry gets to the house twenty minutes later (and also three outfit changes into something that looked casual but wasn’t later and two very thorough rounds of brushing his teeth later), it’s actually Eleanor that lets him in when he rings the doorbell because, as he discovers, Louis and Zayn are arguing in the kitchen.

 _“Fuck_ that, Lou, you know I’d make you anything you w-”

“Yeah, well, he’s already on his way here, so too late.”

“What is _with_ you lately, dude, why are you being so stubborn? Why is he so important?” Harry hears Zayn fume.

“I’m just taking Harry up on his offer of making me _dinner,_ Zayn.” It sounds like Louis’s talking through clenched teeth.

Zayn groans. “I fucking hate you sometimes, you know that? I’m literally doing _exactly_ what you asked me to do and you’re being an ass about it. It’s like you’re _actively trying_ to ruin your semester and it hasn’t even fucking _started_ yet.”

Something ugly twists in Harry’s stomach, because he doesn’t understand the full context of their conversation but one thing is abundantly clear: Zayn doesn’t like him. Harry wonders what he did to make Zayn dislike him, wonders if there’s anything he could’ve done to seem more likeable. He gets really, _really_ sad when people don’t like him and he doesn’t know the reason.

Before Harry can think on that anymore, Zayn storms into the living room, a big bowl of salad and half a baguette clutched in his hands. When he sees Harry, he rolls his eyes and heads up the stairs without a word. Louis comes into the living room a second later, smiling when he sees Harry.

“Harry, you’re here!” he says happily, the only indication that he’d just been arguing the slight color on his cheeks.

“Ta-daa,” Harry replies nervously, waving his hands back and forth. “Is… everything alright? Zayn okay?”

Louis snorts. “Zayn’s fine, he’s just on his period.”

“You’re an idiot,” Perrie yells from the TV room.

In the kitchen, Harry discovers that the chicken breasts are in individually-wrapped packages, so he sets Louis on rinsing both of them (still in the packaging) under warm water until they’ve completely thawed.

“So, what are we making tonight, Chef?” Louis asks him playfully after Harry’s assembled everything else he needs and discovered to his delight that the shredded cheese is none other than mozzarella.

“Well,” Harry says slowly, “I was thinking we could cut the chicken open and stuff it with some of the cheese, then wrap it in bacon and cook it in a pan. And have the mashed potatoes on the side.”

Louis looks delighted. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Harold.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow,” Harry smirks, keeping his eyes on the counter and biting back a laugh when Louis drops one of the frozen chicken breasts into the sink.

Louis wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t know how to cook - in fact, Harry has to actually grab him more than once to stop him from ruining their dinner. And he’s an absolute _disaster_ when working with raw chicken, with no concept of how often and how thoroughly he should wash both his hands and any utensils that handled the uncooked poultry, but Harry keeps at it, steering Louis to the sink frequently until Louis finally gets the hang of it.

In the end it works out, though, especially once Harry banishes Louis from the entree entirely and makes him promise to only touch the instant, just-add-water mashed potatoes. A half-hour after Harry arrived at the house, he and Louis are sitting down in the living room with a beer apiece and plates of chicken stuffed with mozzarella cheese wrapped in bacon with a side of instant mashed potatoes.

The chicken turned out pretty good, Harry thinks, and this is confirmed when Louis takes a bite and lets out a sinful noise before his fork is even fully out of his mouth.

“Oh, _god,_ this is amazing,” he moans, causing Harry to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

“Glad you like it,” mumbles Harry, smiling at him shyly when Louis looks over, gratitude shining in his eyes.

“Oooh, what did you guys make?” Perrie asks, wandering into the living room. “It smells delicious.”

Soon, other members of the house join them, and somebody opens a bottle of wine, and Harry - Harry _likes_ this. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the dorm experience with Niall too, loves how new it all feels, but he likes this too because it feels like a _home,_ which is something that he’s sorely missed since coming to college. It’s a home full of good friends and they take care of it and maintain it themselves and they cook their own meals and watch TV together whenever they want, and - _god,_ it’s amazing, and Harry feels lucky to get another glimpse of it after losing that feeling when he moved out of here on Monday.

“This kind of makes me wonder what else you have up your sleeve,” Louis tells Harry after they’ve both practically licked their plates clean and his roommates are embroiled in a conversation about which type of energy drink is the best.

Harry shrugs. “I dunno, I always tried to help out whenever my mom cooked and I sort of ended up learning a lot of the recipes. Or - like, the general rules of cooking, at least.”

Louis laughs. “I tried to help out before I went to college too, but I was so bad at it that my mom always demoted me to setting the table and washing whatever she needed washed while she was cooking.”

“Hey, I’d do the same thing in her position,” says Harry. “I kind of just did, actually.”

 _“Rude._ I’ll have you know I’m _very_ good at adding water to dehydrated potatoes. _”_

They both laugh.

“Thanks for coming over, though, seriously,” Louis continues with a smile. “I’m probably whisking you away from all sorts of fun freshman bonding you could be having.”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “Now that I see what you mean about freshmen, I’m, like, completely over the whole thing. And, like. This was fun. So.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees happily. “And you’re welcome to come over whenever you want for dinner if you’re going to cook something like this, honestly. Although hopefully Zayn’s met his salad quota for the semester already so he won’t scare me last-minute like that again.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll come over and make a big salad sometime, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like I’ll be forced to lock all the doors and bar all the windows so you and your lettuce can’t enter my house,” laughs Louis.

An hour later, Harry finally leaves, tipsy off of two beers and feeling on top of the world. Niall gives him a weird look when he gets back to the dorm room, but it immediately changes to a knowing grin once Harry tells him where he was.

xxx

On Friday, Harry’s mom flies in with the rest of his things. She’d left him with everything he was going to need for band camp, but Harry really appreciates the rest of his normal clothes arriving so he doesn’t have to wear t-shirts and shorts all the time.

It’s really, _really_ good to see her after only two weeks of being on his own; band has helped a lot with adjusting to not living with his mom, but it’s still been weird for him to be on his own like this.

After she helps him put the clothes away in his room, there’s a soft knock on the door and Harry calls, “Come in?”

It’s just Niall, obeying their “knock before entering” rule that Liam had recommended they establish.

“Hey, H,” Niall mutters, kicking his shoes off. Then, he notices that someone else is in the room. “Oh, are you - _oh,_ is this your mom?”

“Yeah, this is my mom. Mom, this is Niall, he’s my roommate,” Harry introduces them.

“Nice to meet you, Niall.”

“Same here. Did you just fly in today?” Niall asks her.

Anne nods. “Yeah, I got in about two hours ago. And I’m flying back after the game tomorrow.”

“Oh, sick, you get to see the Beatles show!”

“Harry told me it was a good one,” Anne smiles.

The three of them end up going out for dinner together at a Thai restaurant in downtown Brighton. Apparently, it’s on a list of restaurants that Niall’s dad gave him to try out because, as an alumnus of the school himself, he wanted to make sure Niall knew where to get a good meal in college.

Harry catches with his mom up on news from home while Niall shovels curry into his mouth, pausing to answer the occasional question about himself that Anne throws his way.

“Do you guys have any plans for tonight?” she asks them as they’re waiting for the check.

“No, I think we’re just gonna try to get some sleep,” says Harry. “We have to be up at six for bus runs.”

“Six in the _morning?”_ she asks, horrified.

“Yeah.”

“But the game doesn’t start until eleven!”

“We have to, like, do more run-throughs for practice, and play for the team when they get there, and we have a pregame concert I probably should’ve told you about sooner.”

“Well, I’d better get you back to your dorm soon, then,” Anne says. “You have to get your eight hours.”

_“Mom.”_

His mom just reaches over the table to pinch his cheek as Niall cackles.

xxx

_“For your halftime entertainment, the Marching Tigers present a show with music from The Beatles. First up, a classic hit that reminds us all of the true value of romance, this is ‘Can’t Buy Me Love.’”_

The first shape they make is a heart, so as Harry tries to keep his mellophone steady and play the countermelody, he marches diagonally backwards while keeping his horn facing toward the front sideline. Next, the heart is supposed to expand and contract as they play, so Harry marches toward the center, careful to stay pretty much in line with Aiden, who’s marching in front of him.

The crowd cheers as they watch, and Harry glances up to look at the Jumbotron and sees that their formations look how they’re supposed to, which is a huge relief.

_“Next, we feature senior trombonist Rebecca Ferguson on our rendition of Hey Jude.”_

They mark time for the first part of the song while Rebecca plays her solo over long notes from the saxophones and clarinets, and Harry watches as she walks confidently to the front of the field and brings her trombone up to play. The crowd likes that as well, cheering when her solo finishes and the rest of the band starts to play the melody as well.

The rest of the show goes off without a hitch as they make various formations, including a rotating peace sign, “LOVE” spelled out on the field, and a whole-band “follow the leader” drill as they wind around the field.

“That was amazing!” Harry’s mom tells him after the game. “I can’t believe you all look and sound like that only over two weeks, that’s incredible.”

“We had to play last week, too,” says Harry.

“You’ve been so busy, honey,” she says with a smile. “And to think you were _nervous_ about this whole thing, seriously, you looked like a natural out there.”

Harry beams.

“And it helps that you creamed Cal, too,” Anne continues with a smirk. Like Gemma, she went to Stanford, so seeing Lincoln beat their rival UC Berkeley 27-15 was probably just the icing on the cake.

“Yeah, we’re still undefeated!” Harry says excitedly.

His mom laughs. “You’ve only played two games, honey.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Harry grumbles.

She takes him out to dinner after he’s gone back to the dorm, showered, and changed, and all too soon it’s time to say goodbye so she can leave for O’Hare Airport and take a flight back to Portland.

xxx

“You pregaming the band party tonight?” Niall asks Harry as they’re getting ready.

“Yeah, Aiden and Matt are having the mellos over at their apartment,” says Harry. “What about you?”

“The sousas are going over to JJ’s house,” says Niall. “I guess I’ll see you there, then?”

“Yeah, party o’clock,” says Harry, proudly using the new phrase that he’s learned means around 10:30.

xxx

After an hour of pregaming with the mellophones, Harry arrives at the band party well on his way to drunk already. He pays Stan the requisite $5 for entry and shoulders his way through the growing crowd, walking unsteadily into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

“Harry!” Niall yells excitedly, spilling some of his beer on one of the freshmen alto players.

“Long time no see,” Harry jokes, mixing orange juice and vodka in a red cup. He’s resolved to stick to only one type of liquor tonight and see if he can make it longer without getting sick.

He goes to the dance floor first this time, wanting to see who’s down there, and ends up staying for about an hour. Zayn’s playing slightly more upbeat songs this week - well, at least, for now - and the twenty people down there end up jumping up and down and singing along to the songs more than anything else. Harry pops upstairs once for a refill but goes right back down again, loving the fun atmosphere and the way that he feels even closer to these people after only a week. (It might also be the alcohol talking, but whatever.)

When the songs turn more sultry and people start pairing off to dance, though, Harry heads back upstairs to see what else is going on. Jaymi’s in the TV room leading an extremely loud drinking game that Harry learns is called “Thumper,” and he joins in on that until his drink runs out and he has to go into the kitchen to get a new one.

“Yo, Harry!” Liam yells across the living room before Harry can make it to the kitchen. “No one has next game at one of the pong tables, you want a rematch of last week?”

It takes Harry’s alcohol-addled brain a little while to process this, but then he realizes that Liam wants a rematch to see if he and Niall can beat Harry and Louis at beer pong.

“I don’t know where Louis is,” says Harry.

“So go find him,” Liam tells him, rolling his eyes like it’s obvious.

Before Harry can do that, he’s offered a peppermint patty shot in the kitchen, but he’s learned his lesson since last week and only lets peppermint schnapps be poured into his mouth a single time (instead of four times). Growing increasingly unsteady, he mixes vodka with Sprite in his cup and heads downstairs to search for Louis since he hadn’t seen him on the first floor.

Zayn is playing “Don’t Tell ‘Em” mixed with a heavier bassline and the crowd of dancers is loving it, moving and gyrating to the beat. It takes Harry a while to find Louis and, to be honest, he’s a little bit jealously nervous at what he’s going to find, considering what everybody else here is doing - but he’s just dancing with Leigh-Anne, bent over in front of her as she cackles wildly and pretends to smack his ass.

Harry’s mouth goes dry but he takes another gulp of his drink and approaches them, reminding himself that he’s here for a _reason_ and can’t let Louis’s ass distract him. Leigh looks up and sees Harry before Louis does, and her face breaks into a smirk.

“Hey, Lou, I think Harry wants a turn,” she yells to him over the music, actually spanking him and making Louis yelp as he straightens up.

Harry turns bright red when he realizes what Leigh-Anne just said and starts drunkenly stammering as Louis’s eyes meet his. From the way his eyes are shining and the cup in his hand, though, Louis is clearly drunker than he was during the last party, and he asks, “Yeah? You want a turn?”

Leigh-Anne bursts out laughing as Louis saunters forward and wraps an arm around Harry’s neck.

“Louis, I, um-” Harry stammers, afraid that he’s going to drop his drink as Louis starts to move his hips to the beat, “I - Liam w-wanted to-”

“Why are you bringing up _Liam?”_ Louis pouts, getting dangerously close to just grinding on Harry’s thigh.

“Liamwantedtoplaypong,” Harry says quickly, rushing to get all the words out so Louis can’t interrupt him again. His hands are _itching_ to move to Louis’s hips and just let it - _this -_ happen, but he doesn’t want it to be at a party. God, his head is spinning.

“Pong?” Louis lights up, his eyes dilated under the Christmas lights that are strung up on the basement’s ceiling. He leans in close, his breath ghosting over Harry’s ear and making Harry squeak. “Wanna be my partner again?”

“That’s - that’s why I - Liam, um. Liam wanted. Rematch. _Liam wanted a rematch,”_ stammers Harry, feeling doubly drunk on alcohol and arousal from Louis being this close to him. “Me and you. Versus him and Niall.”

“Alright, let’s do it!” Louis says excitedly, grabbing Harry’s hand and leading them both off of the dance floor. Harry accidentally makes eye contact with Zayn as they’re leaving and the other boy narrows his eyes at him, making Harry gulp nervously.

When they get upstairs, though, Liam is nowhere in sight, and a large portion of the partygoers are crowded around two tall boys near the doorway.

“Oh, Kane, you made it!” Louis yells, dropping Harry’s hand and shoving through the crowd.

 _Ouch._ That stings, Louis dropping him completely to talk to what Harry now realizes are the two football players who live next door. Now there’s no pong and no Louis, and all Harry can do is take a sad sip of his drink and go into the kitchen to refill it.

“You see all those girls fawning over Craig?” he hears Stan laughing as he pours more vodka into his cup.

Perrie laughs. “Yeah, I know. I kind of want to put them out of their misery, but it’s also pretty fun to watch.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, topping off his drink.

“He’s not into girls, like. At all,” says Stan.

“What? How do you know?”

“Honestly, he’s pretty open about it,” says Perrie. “Lowkey, though, because of course in college football you’d rather be known for the way you play than who you like to fuck, but Jaymi hooked up with him once and says that Craig told him he only liked guys.”

“Which one is he?” Harry asks.

“He’s a cornerback.”

“No, like, out of the two who just came in.”

“He’s the shorter one,” says Stan. “Doesn’t have a full head of dreads like Kane does.”

When Harry goes back into the living room he makes a beeline for the football players because if Louis can brush Harry off, Harry can do the same. Louis is still talking to Kane, Harry sees, but Harry makes his way over to Craig, who’s getting more and more attractive the way Harry looks at him. He’s tall, built but not _too_ bulky, lean enough for secondary defense and strong enough that he could probably pin-

“Hey, man,” Craig says, jolting Harry out of his own head and grabbing Harry’s hand. “I’m Craig, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m Harry,” Harry says, biting his lip coyly and turning up his charm levels to maximum just to see what happens. “You’re a cornerback, right?”

“That’s me,” Craig agrees, his eyes focused on Harry’s lips.

“You played really well today,” says Harry, taking a sip of his drink.

Craig laughs. “Thanks, but there were definitely some gaps in coverage that I could’ve done better on.”

Harry waves his hand in dismissal. “Don’t sell yourself short, Craig. Plus a lot of my family’s gone to Stanford, so it was cool to see you beat Cal.”

“Stanford, hmm? You from California or something?”

“No, Portland,” says Harry, and then Craig’s eyes light up because apparently he used to live in Portland and before Harry knows it they’ve been talking for twenty minutes and it’s getting late and the party’s starting to thin out.

“So, Harry, are you doing anything after this?” Craig asks eventually.

It’s an invitation. It’s the most obvious invitation Harry’s ever received, and his insides flutter, pleased.

“I’m-”

“Everyone doing okay over here?”

It’s Louis, cutting in and inserting himself into the conversation in an equally obvious ploy. Harry’s drunk enough that he laughs out loud and both Louis and Craig look at him strangely.

“Yeah, thinking of heading home soon,” Craig says with a meaningful look at Harry.

“Mmm, yeah, it is getting late,” says Louis. “Want me to walk you home soon, Harry?”

Harry does a little mental victory dance. “Um….” He glances apologetically at Craig. “Yeah, sure, just let me finish my drink. It was really nice meeting you, Craig. I’ll cheer for you next game.”

Craig doesn’t look too upset about the whole thing. “Thanks, Harry, I appreciate it.”

Liam and Zayn shoulder past them to get to the porch, and while Harry can see Zayn fumbling with a lighter and a cigarette in his hands, Liam throws a wink over his shoulder when he sees who Harry is talking to.

Harry finishes his drink while talking with Niall and Jade, who have been sitting in the TV room playing various drinking games most of the night, but he’s starting to feel tired and sluggish from the alcohol instead of loose and fun so it’s probably good that Louis is about to walk him home.

After a few more minutes, though, Louis is nowhere to be found even after Harry’s done a cursory search of the entire first floor and basement, so Harry decides to venture outside in the hopes that Louis might be waiting for him on the porch.

It turns out that Louis is on the porch, but he’s not exactly waiting for Harry.

“I’m just sick of watching you do this to yourself!” Zayn is yelling, Liam standing next to him nervously as he shouts at Louis. “It’s - I’m not the _bad_ guy, okay, I just-”

“Well, you’re acting like one,” Louis snaps, swaying a little bit.

“God, you’re so _selfish,”_ Zayn fumes, “but in, like, the most self-destructive way possible, Jesus. Do you understand how hard it was to watch you suffer all last year trying to get the grades to apply to the teaching school?”

“No, please tell me how hard it was _watching_ me,” says Louis sarcastically.

Zayn throws his hands up. “The number of times I saw you cry from the stress of even _applying_ to this damn program, Louis - _Jesus,_ you destroyed yourself to even get into this thing and now that you have to double up on all your classes you want-”

“It’s not like it’s my choice, okay, the heart wants what it-”

“Of _course_ you have a choice! There’s always a choice!”

Harry coughs. They all turn and stare at him.

“Ready to go?” Louis asks weakly.

“Yes?” says Harry. It comes out as a question because he’s so nervous and uncomfortable.

“Right, let’s go,” says Louis, lurching forward to grab Harry’s hand and drag him down the porch steps.

“Zayn, you just smoked, like, three in a row,” Harry hears Liam sigh as Zayn presumably takes out another cigarette.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asks Louis when they’re a block down the street. “Do you, um, d’you want to talk about it?”

“Not really at all,” says Louis. “Let’s talk about you instead. I’ve just - _hic! -_ I just realized I don’t really know much about you, so tell me about yourself.”

“That’s kind of a broad question,” Harry points out.

Louis groans. “Fine then, just - how about you get to ask a question and then I ask one. But they have to be about, like, lighthearted stuff. Y’know. Favorite things and all that.”

Harry brightens up. “Okay, um… do you have any siblings?”

“Do I ever,” Louis chirps, then launches into an account about his immediate family.

With Harry and Louis talking all over the place, the walk to Harry’s dorm seems a lot shorter than it usually does. Before Harry knows it, they’re on the front steps and Harry’s fiddling with the electronic key to get inside, not really wanting to stop talking to Louis yet.

“Sorry for being a dick, earlier,” says Louis. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting anything, I hope I didn’t-”  
“You’re so full of shit,” Harry blurts out happily, smiling wide.

Louis laughs, first in shock and then in happiness. “Yeah?”

“Completely,” says Harry. “I’m glad you did, though, because I was really only talking to him to make someone else jealous.”

They’re both grinning like idiots. “That’s awful, Harry.”

Harry licks his lips and watches as Louis’s eyes follow the motion. _God,_ he’s never wanted to kiss someone quite this badly before. “Yeah, I feel kinda bad about it, but hopefully it was worth it.”

“Mhmm,” Louis murmurs, a quiet sound. They stare at each other a minute as Harry fights to keep his hands by his sides. “Yeah, think it was worth it,” Louis says eventually.

He leans forward and Harry’s hands come up automatically, gripping at Louis’s arms as their lips meet. He makes a quiet sound into Louis’s mouth, one filled with breathless longing as Louis’s lips slide against his, and when Louis bites softly at Harry’s lower lip Harry gasps into his mouth, squeezing his arms a little tighter. Louis brings one of his hands up to cup the back of Harry’s neck and gently pushes his tongue into Harry’s mouth and Harry sucks on it, whining when it makes Louis groan and kiss him more deeply. He tastes sweet, like wine and fruit, and Harry can’t get enough, moving one of his hands to grip at Louis’s soft hair and tug on the strands.

 _God,_ it’s wonderful, better than Harry had imagined it would be, and he feels so wanted being held in Louis’s arms like this that he loses himself in it, kissing Louis fiercely until they both have to come up for air and someone yells, “Yo, get a room!” at them from the street.

“I should probably go,” Louis says, his eyes blown. His hair is all messed up from Harry’s hands running through it and his lips are swollen and oh god Harry never wants to stop kissing him, oh _god._ “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight,” Harry says, smiling at him and feeling butterflies in his stomach when Louis smiles back.

Only when Louis turns to go does Harry touch his lips, imagining that he can still feel them tingling and trying to memorize every detail of this moment so that he’ll remember it in the morning.


	4. we pick ourselves undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the first two weeks of classes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long it's been, I've been part of an anonymous fic exchange and the Big Bang so there's that. Next chapter should be out within three weeks, and it will be longer and more detailed and more angsty. As it is, enjoy this slice of college life.
> 
> WARNING for homophobic and Islamophobic slurs (used by Zayn) and internalized homophobia.

When he wakes up the next morning, Harry wonders if he’s going to spend his Sundays in college perpetually and habitually hungover.

“Jesus, my head hurts,” he croaks, noticing that Niall’s already awake and at his desk.

“Join the club,” Niall mumbles. “I’ve got heartburn coming out my ears, too, so it hurts more to lie down than it does to sit up.”

Harry winces, rolling over away from the sunlight streaming in through the window and grabbing for his phone. It’s only when he opens the lockscreen that he remembers-

_“Yeah, think it was worth it.”_

Holy - _shit,_ Louis kissed him last night. _He_ kissed _Louis_. Harry and Louis _kissed!_

Harry curls in on himself in excitement, in too much pain to sit upright but too happy to stay still. He makes an embarrassing sort of trilling noise as he opens his messaging app, which causes Niall to shift around in his chair.

“What has you this happy at ten a.m. on a Sunday?”

“Nothing,” Harry grins, noticing with glee that he’d also gotten Louis’s number entered into his phone sometime over the course of the party last night.

It doesn’t look like they’d texted each other anything, though, so Harry opens up a new message to Louis and types, **_‘moooorning :)’_** then sends it before he has time to second-guess himself.

“You think you’re awake for good?” Niall asks a few minutes later.

“Maybe,” Harry yawns, still staring at his phone and wondering when Louis is going to respond. “I just want to be unconscious, I think. Might go back to sleep.”

“Alright, I’m gonna head downstairs to the cafeteria, then,” Niall says. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to go, but-”

Harry’s stomach cuts him off with an absurdly loud growl. Harry groans as Niall laughs. “Could you, like… could you bring me up a plate full of hash browns or something?” Harry asks, feeling pathetic.

“No way, dude,” says Niall. “If they don’t stop me I’m eating all the hash browns they have left.”

“Jesus, fine, I’ll go,” Harry moans, dragging himself out of bed after one last look at his phone. His empty stomach still manages to lurch with the change in orientation, but it thanks him ten minutes later once he and Niall walk into the cafeteria and the smell of greasy bacon and fried potatoes hits Harry’s nose.

“What classes did you sign up for during welcome week?” Niall asks him as they wait in line.

“Uh, let’s see…” Harry wracks his sleep-addled brain, “well, I tried to cover all the basics so I can figure out what I like, so I’m taking Macroeconomics, Intro to Psych, Russian Literature, Intermediate Spanish, and my freshman seminar.”

“Nice, I signed up for Russian Lit too,” exclaims Niall. “I was thinking of switching that to Intro to Poetry, though, ‘cause I already know I’m decent at that.”

“Aren’t you mostly taking music classes, though? I didn’t know music students had to take regular classes.”

“God, I _wish_ we didn’t have to,” says Niall. “But yeah, we do. They count as electives for us and we have to take one a semester.”

“Well, you should stay in Russian Lit, then,” Harry says. “Just so I know I have a friend in it.”

“I’m sure we’ll know lots of people in it, considering it’s a three-hundred-person lecture,” Niall snorts. “But I’ll stick it out for you, bro.”

They reach the front of the line and load up their plates with breakfast food, the smell making Harry’s mouth water with how hungry he is. Then, Harry spots a couple of guys from their floor already sitting at one of the long tables, so he suggests to Niall that they go join them.

“Hey, guys,” one of their floormates, Bret, greets them as they sit down. He looks even worse off than Harry feels. “You look like you had a good night.”

“So do you,” Niall says.

“The ski team threw a party,” Bret tells them. “But it got busted by the cops kinda early, so a bunch of us snuck into a bar and stayed there til, like, three. What about you guys?”

“Band party,” says Harry with a smile.

“No shit, really?” asks Alex, another one of their floormates. “I didn’t know the marching band had parties, dude, that’s awesome.”

“They get pretty wild,” Niall assures them. “No, I’m serious! And last night we even had two football players show up.”

At that mention, Harry remembers that he texted Louis earlier in the morning and hadn’t gotten a response, so he pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it as the other boys talk excitedly about the football players who had attended the party. Harry frowns when he sees that he doesn’t have any new messages; it’s going on 11, so Louis _might_ not be up yet. Right. That’s probably what it is.

xxx

After breakfast, Harry and Niall shower and get dressed for the day, moving slowly but surely toward feeling like regular human beings again.

“I have to go buy all my books today, d’you want to come?” Harry asks around noon.

“I don’t think I have any books to buy,” Niall says. “Perks of being a music student.”

“What about for Russian Lit?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Niall swears. “Alright, yeah, let’s go.”

As they walk to the campus bookstore, Harry notices that the campus itself is very busy, with upperclassmen moving in all around them and various groups of freshmen playing frisbee and sunning themselves on lawns. It’s not quiet and peaceful like it was during band camp, but it has a different kind of charm to it that makes Harry smile all the same.

Because everyone seems to be awake, though, something in Harry’s stomach twists at the fact that Louis hasn’t texted him back. It’s stupid, he knows. And he shouldn’t let something like this be affecting him him so early in his college career, it’s just - however stupid Harry knows he’s being, he just can’t help it when it comes to Louis.

“Are you late for something?” Niall asks him as they walk into the bookstore.

“No, why?”

“You’ve been checking your phone, like, every five seconds,” says Niall.

Harry sighs in frustration, checking his phone again only to see a familiar blank lockscreen with no new notifications. “I just - no, I’m not late for anything. It’s nothing.”

“What is _that_ I hear in your voice?” Niall asks suspiciously. Then, just as Harry is about to make an escape into the stacks of books, Niall hits himself on the forehead. “Wait a second! You left with Louis last night, didn’t you? Holy _shit,_ Harry, you-”

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Harry hisses, looking around them as other students peer at them with interest.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember ‘til just now,” Niall whisper-shouts. “Did anything happen?”

“He walked me home,” Harry tells him, “and he, um… we kissed goodnight. That was it.”

“That was _it?”_

“That was it,” Harry repeats. “And I’m just… I’m just waiting for him to text me back, that’s all.”

Niall’s face falls.

“See, this was why I didn’t bring it up,” says Harry with a sigh, not wanting to see the look of pity on Niall’s face. It doesn’t _mean_ anything, not yet - Louis is still asleep, Harry’s sure of it. “I’m gonna go look for my econ book now.”

As Harry escapes into the stacks, he can’t help but pull his phone out one last time, firing out a quick **_‘you ok? everything alright?’_** text to Louis before he can think better of it.

xxx

“What’s your schedule like?” Niall asks as they walk back to their dorm. He’s carrying a few small paperbacks; Harry, meanwhile, is laden down with so many hardcover textbooks he’s starting to wonder if his arms are about to give out.

“Pretty busy,” Harry says distractedly, looking at his phone for the hundredth time. “How’s yours?”

As Niall talks about his schedule, Harry decides to send a quick text to Liam just to make sure that Louis is, like, alive and well, just because Harry’s starting to get worried.

 ** _‘do u know if louis is ok?’_** he texts Liam.

Liam’s reply comes fairly quickly, just as Harry is struggling up the staircase in his dorm with Niall hot on his heels.

**_‘yeahhhh he’s fine! I’m sitting here watchin TV w him and Z. what’s upp?’_ **

“Shit,” Harry swears.

“What’s wrong?” asks Niall.

“I… I think Louis might be ignoring me.”

“Is he having seconds thoughts about letting you suck his dick last night?”

Harry groans. “I _told_ you, nothing happened! And keep your voice down. People are going to hear and get the wrong idea about me."

“You’re telling me you _wouldn’t_ have sucked his dick last night if you’d gotten the chance?” Niall snorts.

“That’s not what’s important right now,” Harry hisses. “He’s ignoring my _texts,_ Niall.”

Niall frowns. “You didn’t, like, send _too_ many, did you?”

“Only two,” Harry says. “And Liam just told me he’s awake. Louis, I mean.”

“Hmm. Well… that’s kind of a dick move then, isn’t it?”

“No, he-”

“Harry, you could do _way_ better.”

“No I couldn’t,” Harry says, suddenly feeling protective of Louis and his gorgeousness even though the other boy is ignoring him.

“What about that football player who was hitting on you yesterday? You were into him, I could tell that from the TV room.”

“I was only talking to him to make Louis jealous,” Harry admits. “Which I _thought_ worked, because we kissed, but-”

“Yeah, but why not go that route instead?” Niall asks as they put their books away. “He was into you too.”

“I don’t _want_ him, though,” Harry says petulantly, feeling like a child. “I want _Louis.”_

“Jesus, H, you’re hopeless,” says Niall. “Maybe you can talk to him at band tomorrow, then? He can’t ignore you if you’re talking to him in person.”

“True,” Harry hedges. He’d feel awkward bringing it up in person, is the thing.

A knock on the door suddenly interrupts them.

“Come in,” Niall calls.

The door opens to reveal a few of their floormates.

“Yo, Bret’s putting Superbad on in the lounge for us to watch before dinner. You guys in?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, sure,” says Harry, grateful to have something that’ll take his mind off Louis.

As they walk to the lounge, Niall gives Harry a _look_ indicating that the previous discussion is not over in the slightest, and all Harry can do is give him a sheepish grin back and hope that Niall forgets about it by the time the movie’s over.

xxx

At 8am the next morning, Harry’s and Niall’s alarms go off at the exact same time.

“Happy first day of classes,” Harry calls cheerfully to the bunk below him.

“Fuck off,” Niall mumbles, evidently still half-asleep.

Their first class of the day, Russian Literature, is at 9am, so Harry gets out of bed and sets to washing his face and brushing his teeth in the crowded communal bathroom.

Niall stumbles in a few minutes later, rubbing at his eyes. “How the fuck did I manage to get up at six in the morning for high school?”

All the boys in the bathroom grunt in agreement.

“It was the same for us the first week of band camp,” Harry points out. “We were getting up at seven every day.”

“Yeah, but the week in between I was getting up at, like, nine or ten,” Niall groans. “This is torture. You’re lucky I like you or else I’d be dropping Russian Lit so fast.”

It turns out that Derek has Russian Lit with them too and, according to what he’s heard, it’s supposed to be one of the easiest English classes available that contributes toward Lincoln’s “literature” graduation requirement. They decide to walk there as a group and, half an hour later, Harry and Niall pop down to the cafeteria for some breakfast. Harry goes with cereal and yogurt today, his stomach still a bit unsettled from his fatty hangover fare the day before.

“Aren’t you even a little bit excited?” he asks Niall once they’ve sat down.

“No, I am, I am,” Niall mumbles around a mouthful of eggs. “I just could’ve used an extra hour or two of sleep.”

Harry thinks about all the empty notebooks and folders he has in his backpack right now and feels a little thrill of excitement run through him, like his normal “first day of school” jitters times ten. He’s excited to start learning material from the professors here and, more importantly, really excited to find out what actually interests him, since nothing’s jumped out at him from course catalogs so far.

At 8:45, Harry and Niall find Derek waiting in the lobby and they set out for campus together. The sun is shining, the school is busy, and even though some part of Harry’s brain is a little dejected about the whole Louis situation, he thinks it’s going to be a good day.

xxx

After Russian Lit, Harry has an hour-long break before he has Psych and Spanish right in a row, so he heads over to the lake and gets a spot on the grass to people-watch for an hour. He already has several chapters of _War and Peace_ to read for Russian Lit, but he doesn’t have the class again until Wednesday so he figures he’ll just use this hour to relax.

After Psych and Spanish, Harry has three hours until he has to go to band practice at 4:00, so he has a quick lunch in Aspen’s cafeteria before heading upstairs to get some work done.

He manages to read one chapter of _War and Peace_ and a section from his psychology book by 3:45, at which point Niall crashes into the room with papers flying everywhere.

“You alright?” Harry asks, closing his book with amusement.

“I have, like, _all_ of my classes on Mondays,” Niall grits out, dumping his backpack on the floor. “This semester is gonna suck.”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays should be better, though, right?”

Niall nods, eyeing his bed longingly.

“C’mon, we have to go to band,” Harry prods him, changing into sneakers and then grabbing his mellophone.

xxx

The game on Saturday is an away game, meaning that the band has two weeks to prepare a new show before the next home game. They’re going to be doing a space-themed show with music from Star Wars and Star Trek, both the old series and the new re-boot.

“Since we have two weeks to work on this, I want the music memorized by the end of rehearsal on Wednesday so we can have a week and a half to learn our show,” Dr. Higgins tells them as Nick and Greg pass out the music. “It’s going to be a very fun show visually, since you all will be making moving spaceships while Leigh-Anne and Louis use fire extinguishers to provide the contrails.”

“Wow, that sounds awesome,” Jade says as the rest of the band murmurs excitedly.

Harry can’t help but agree; he’s especially excited for Louis and Leigh, who sound like they have an awesome job to do.

It would be even better if Louis was talking to him, but. Apparently Harry can’t have it all.

All he’s gotten so far is awkward, fleeting eye contact at the beginning of rehearsal, when Harry was putting his instrument together and Louis ran over to talk with Liam for a minute. Harry hadn’t said anything, but neither had Louis, who had scampered away after he’d discussed whatever was so important with Liam and looked at Harry like he’d seen a ghost.

No marching really happens in marching band that day; they spend it all memorizing the new music, and when Harry packs up his mellophone at the end of rehearsal, he feels a great wave of disappointment wash over him as he watches Louis, Zayn, and the rest of their little house drive off in Louis’s beat-up red minivan. Like Louis can’t get away from Harry fast enough, or something.

“What has you looking so sad?” Jade asks, nudging Harry’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles.

Jade arches an eyebrow. “You know, I’m going to get it out of you by the time dinner’s over.”

Harry perks up at that. “You want to eat dinner together?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jade says brightly. “A bunch of people were talking about eating at Simpson because it’s the closest, but if we go now we can beat the rush.”

Harry smiles gratefully at her and picks up his mellophone, walking quickly with his friend to beat the gaggle of marching band students already making their way toward the closest dining hall.

xxx

There’s no marching band practice on Tuesdays - it’s their only day off of the week - and Harry busies himself with attending the rest of his new classes, Macroeconomics and his freshman seminar. He already has homework that’s due tomorrow, too, so after classes are over, he meets up with Jade and George and the three of them head over to one of the biggest campus lawns to spread out and try to do some work in the sunshine.

It’s nice, doing work with his friends amongst the background noise of pick-up frisbee games and laughter from passing students. Harry’s still getting used to the whole concept of college, the fact that he can pretty much do whatever he wants without very many people he has to answer to, and it makes something bittersweet and happy twist in his stomach when he realizes that, although he used to complain when his mom urged him to do his homework in high school, here he is now doing homework ahead of time on his own accord.

That night, he and Niall discover that they both had huge Green Day phases in middle school, so they spend the night jamming and singing out old songs while Niall plays chords on his acoustic guitar. Eventually, some of the boys from their floor come to investigate and end up singing along with them, and later Harry goes to bed feeling happy and fulfilled.

He can’t help but check his phone one last time before he goes to sleep, though, just in case Louis missed his text for the past two days and is just now deciding to text him back. There aren’t any new messages, though, and Harry tries (and fails) not to feel disappointed and sad as he drifts off to sleep.

xxx

“You should go talk to him,” Jade urges Harry at marching band practice the next day.

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” Harry whines. “I think at this point I just want to forget about it.”

“What’s up with you guys?” asks Liam cheerfully, making his way over to them.

“Nothing,” Harry mutters, unable to help himself as his eyes flick over to where Louis is stretching in preparation for practice. Then, he notices Liam’s perceptive frown and busies himself with a stray thread on his shorts as his cheeks burn.

When Liam turns his attention to talking with Aiden, though, Jade leans over and whispers, “Oh my god, he’s talking with Zayn and they’re both looking at you.”

“God, _stop,”_ Harry mutters, keeping his eyes downcast. “They’re probably just laughing at me.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” says Jade.

“Stop looking at them! You’re making it obvious.”

“Harry, you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” says Jade. “He’s the one who cockblocked you in the first place. That’s on him.”

Harry thinks with dismay about the messages on Louis’s phone that he’s read but hasn’t responded to. “Yeah, but he got the last laugh, didn’t he?”

Just then, Dr. Higgins’ whistle interrupts any further conversation as he calls practice into session. Harry’s stomach twists miserably as he clutches his mellophone and gets ready for music warm-ups, trying to ignore the fact that Louis is so close and yet so far away.

By the end of band rehearsal, they’ve managed to memorize all of the music for the game next weekend, and Dr. Higgins tells them that the grads will be passing out drill charts at tomorrow night’s practice.The sun’s starting to dip behind buildings in the sky, and Harry’s stomach is grumbling by the time they start to pack up their instruments.

He resolutely does _not_ look up when Louis’s red mini van flies by, and it’s a testament to how hungry Jade is too that she doesn’t press it.

As Harry and his friends are walking to the closest dining hall, though, his phone buzzes with a new text - from Louis.

**_‘do you want to get coffee tonight?’_ **

Suddenly, his stomach’s in knots, and Harry very nearly stops in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks.

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry mutters. He doesn’t want to cause a scene among this big a group - particularly a group that includes Liam, because Harry doesn’t want to risk Liam finding out how pathetic he is and then telling Zayn, and by extension Louis.

When he tells Niall after dinner once they’re safely back in their room, his roommate looks delighted. “This is your chance to ignore _him_ for a few days! See how he likes it.”

“But I actually _want_ to see him,” Harry whines as Niall cackles. “Seriously, what should I do”

“Well, you already know what I think,” Niall grins. “But seriously, you shouldn’t be, like, obviously jumping at the chance to hang out with him. Don’t be too eager, you know?”

Eventually, they agree on a simple response - **_‘sure I guess’_** \- that Harry feels bad sending but that Niall convinces him will keep Louis on his toes.

 ** _‘sorry i know this is kind of out of the blue. Does 9 at starbucks work?’_** Louis texts back almost immediately.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Niall says encouragingly.

“You think I should go?” asks Harry.

“I mean, it’s your call, bro,” says Niall. “Looks like he wants to talk or some shit, though, that’s better than nothing.”

Harry ends up going, feeling like a tangled bundle of nerves as he arrives at the campus Starbucks five minutes early despite his best efforts to get there fashionably late. He sees with a start that Louis is already there, though, so maybe Louis is even more nervous than he is.

Louis gives a small wave when he sees Harry and then walks over, hands in the pockets of his shorts.

“Hey,” he says as they get in line. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“I mean, no problem,” Harry says with a shrug. He side-eyes Louis and continues, “I’ve been wanting to talk since Sunday, but I guess talking in-person is always better.”

Louis’s cheeks color as the two of them move forward in line. “Yeah, I’m - shit, I’m sorry, Harry. I’m not usually this much of a dick, if that’s any consolation.”

“Oh, so I’m special, then?”

Louis bursts out laughing, then claps a hand over his mouth as the corners of his eyes crinkle. And just like that, any discomfort or bitterness Harry had been harboring disappears, helpless against the assault of Louis just being himself.

After they get their drinks, Louis leads Harry to a table in the corner, and Harry realizes that Louis had already been set up there doing work before Harry arrived.

“You have this much homework already?” he asks Louis as they sit down.

Louis nods sadly. “It’s mostly busy work, but yeah. I’ve been working on it since practice.”

“Jesus,” says Harry.

“It’s actually part of the reason why I wanted to - actually, you know what, let me start from the beginning,” Louis says, waving a hand as he blows on his tea. “Fuck it, I’m just gonna say it. I’m, like, I was so happy when you let me walk you home on Saturday, but I was also really drunk. And I would never’ve done that if I wasn’t drunk, okay?”

Harry’s stomach sinks and he nods slowly, wondering how fast he can get out of here. “Oh.”

“Not because I - no, not because I don’t like you, Harry,” Louis says quickly, and just like that the weight in Harry’s tummy lifts and he can breathe again. “I _do_ like you. I like you a lot, that’s the whole problem, because if I _didn’t_ like you I could’ve walked you home and made out with you and maybe even, um - anyway, I could’ve done all that and never talked to you again and it wouldn’t’ve bothered me. But I like you a lot, ‘cause you’re - fuck, ‘cause you’re really cute, okay? And stop looking at me like that, it’s distracting.”

Harry grins and holds up his hands defensively.

“But my point is, I really like you-”

“I don’t think you’ve said that enough times,” Harry cuts in, bold and happy in the wake of Louis’s confession.

“Shut up,” Louis snaps, hitting Harry’s arm with a chuckle that betrays his true feelings. “But the thing is - the way I saw it, if you liked me back, then we’d start hooking up and spending a lot of time together, like - relationship stuff, and I genuinely don’t have time for a relationship right now.”

“Why not?”

Louis gestures at his pile of schoolwork. “I’m a junior, but last year I applied and got accepted to the secondary education program, which I’m just starting now. So, basically, I’m starting another program two years later than most people, trying to take it at the same time as my theatre degree, _and_ I’m trying to finish everything in four total years. So I’m doing two degrees right now, but I’m taking twice the normal courseload for one of them.”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes.

“So it’s just - it’s just a lot to deal with right now,” says Louis, scratching at the back of his neck. “And I don’t wanna fuck it up because it took me _so_ much trouble just to get accepted into this program in the first place.”

“Is that what Zayn was talking about at the party?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “He practically held my hand through the whole process, you know? It was so fucking stressful, and now that I’m finally in the school of secondary education I have to do really well to show that I’m serious about doing a degree in two years. He was already worried about how I was going to handle the courseload, and obviously so was I, so I promised myself that I wasn’t gonna, like, hook up with anyone or start anything like that this semester. And I told him that this summer, y’know, I told him to hold me to it once the school year started, and then _you_ had to show up and be, like, the way you are.”

“The way I am?”

“Yeah, the way you are,” Louis repeats, gesturing vaguely to Harry’s entire presence. “But that’s why I wouldn’t have walked you home if I hadn’t been drunk, you know? I didn’t want to just hook up with you because I actually _like_ you and want to keep talking to you, but I couldn’t start anything romantic because I literally don’t have time to get close to anyone like that.”

“Oh,” says Harry, finally understanding where Louis is coming from. He frowns. “Well, you could’ve told me that sooner. I almost moped through my first week of college thinking that you didn’t like me.”

Louis grimaces. “Yeah, Liam came up to me today and told me I was being a dick.”

“Best section leader ever,” Harry says happily.

“He’s a good guy. So, the point of this whole thing is, like - I wanted to let you know that I really, really like you, but that I don’t have time for anything right now,” Louis says, fiddling with his cup. His lip curls as he continues, “So feel free to, like, experiment with people, y’know, normal college freshman things, but just know that when the semester’s over and things get a little less hectic, I’d love to, like, go on a date or something, see if things could work for us.”

“You mean it?” Harry asks, a grin threatening to split his face in two.

“Yeah, definitely. If you’re interested,” Louis says quietly.

They stare at each other for a bit, and Harry realizes that Louis has truly gorgeous eyes. Everything about him is gorgeous, honestly, and Harry’s elation at Louis returning his interest quickly turns to disappointment at not being able to have Louis right-the-fuck-now.

Then Harry realizes that Louis was waiting for him to respond. “Oh, definitely. I’m - yeah.”

They both grin. Harry wants to reach across the table and hold Louis’s hand, but he realizes that he’s not going to be able to do that until the end of the semester. Fuck.

“But seriously, like - you can definitely see other people if you want to,” Louis says, glancing at the table. “Freshman year’s supposed to be fun like that.”

Harry wonders if Louis really means that. Hopes he doesn’t.

“Would it be cool if we, like, did work together sometimes?” Harry asks. “I know you have to be productive or whatever, but not seeing you at all would be weird. Those first weeks of band camp were fun.”

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says with a grin. “Definitely, though. As long as we don’t get too distracted.”

“I brought work with me,” Harry offers, lifting his backpack onto his lap.

“Oh, nice,” says Louis. “You already have homework as a freshman?”

“Yeah, reading for Russian Lit.”

Louis scoffs. “Nobody does those readings, Harold. Save yourself the trouble.”

“Maybe I want to be a good student,” Harry sniffs, grabbing _War and Peace_ and flipping it to the first page.

“Hey, more power to you,” Louis shrugs. He picks up his workbook. “Maybe your motivation will rub off on me.”

There’s a very _different_ way that Harry wants to rub off on Louis, actually, but he keeps that to himself, settling in with his chai latte across from the boy he has a big dumb crush on and trying to count this whole situation as a victory rather than a defeat.

xxx

“So what is he gonna do, be celibate for the entire semester?” Niall asks later that night when they’ve tucked themselves into their bunk beds.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “He made it sound like that, I guess.”

“Well, that doesn’t meant that _you_ have to be,” Niall says encouragingly. “Yo, next week’s rush week for Sig Mu, you should come to some of the parties with me.”

Harry makes a face at the ceiling. Somehow, he doesn’t think that the best place to score gay guys is a frat party, but he keeps that to himself. There’s also the whole thing where the only gay guy he _wants_ to score is Louis. “Maybe. Am I allowed to go if I don’t want to join?”

“Yeah, I think so,” says Niall. “Plus you know Liam and stuff, and apparently he’s the shoe-in for next VP Membership.”

“Does that mean he’s important?”

Niall snorts. “Neither of your parents went greek, did they?”

“Not at all,” says Harry. “It’s fine, though, maybe I’ll go just to see what it’s like. We should get to bed, though, because we have to get up at 8 again and if you’re just going to bitch and moan as much as the last time-“

“Shut up, that was totally justified,” Niall groans, shifting around on his bed. “Night, man.”

“Night.”

xxx

Since the game that weekend is an away game, the “band house” (who have tried to get people to call their house ‘King’s Landing’ but it hasn’t caught on yet) decides to throw a party on Friday night instead of their normal Saturday business, just because they aren’t required to be functional the next day.

In celebration of getting through the first week of classes – some more successfully than others – the mellophones pregame fairly heavily at Matt and Aiden’s apartment, so by the time they arrive at the band house, Harry’s clumsier than usual.

“Whoa there,” Stan says, steadying Harry as he almost falls over crossing the threshold. As Harry pulls out the five dollar cover charge, Stan looks accusingly at Matt and asks, “What the hell did you give him?”

“Just Bacardi,” Matt laughs. “We played Shots & Ladders and Harry got the _worst_ luck, though. We’ll look out for him, don’t worry.”

Harry barely hears them, though, already stumbling into the party in search of more alcohol. Once he has a full mixed drink (fruit punch and vodka), he gets roped into a game of Kings in the TV room, a game that has far too many rules for a drunk person to learn on the spot. As a result, Harry has to drink quite a bit for breaking the rules, and that’s how Louis finds him an hour into the party, rolling around on the floor in despair at yet another broken rule as the rest of the group cackles.

“Harold, pull yourself together!” Harry hears.

“Aw, let him live, bro,” someone shouts.

Then hands are under Harry’s armpits, pulling him into a sitting position against the couch. He looks up and sees Louis, looking devastatingly beautiful in a black Vans t-shirt and jeans.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry breathes.

Louis blushes as the rest of the group coos.

“Can someone watch him? I’m gonna go get him some water,” Louis says, ignoring Harry’s statement.

“Yeah, I got him,” says Camila, petting at Harry’s hair as Louis leaves for the kitchen.

Camila’s fingers feel nice in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Harry’s head lolls back against the couch as he floats in his nice party-haze. Vaguely, he hears Cher telling Camila about this guy she’s been seeing, and it almost feels like Harry’s dreaming, especially given the fact that his body doesn’t quite feel like his own.

“Hold on, it’s not bedtime yet,” Louis says abruptly, back in Harry’s space holding a red solo cup full of water. “Here you go, drink up.”

Harry sips at the water and makes a face at how bland it tastes. “What’s in it?”

The whole group laughs. “Just water, babe,” Louis says.

“It tastes awful.”

“I’ll have you know our tap water is _just_ fine, thank you very much,” says Louis.

“Yeah, Chicago tap water is some of the best,” Jesy says as Harry drinks some more.

That launches the group into a big conversation about what parts of the country have the best and worst tap water, and Harry listens peacefully as he drinks, noting that the more water he drinks the less weird it tastes. Louis settles down next to him as Ed argues with Ant about LA’s drinking water.

“You feeling better?” Louis asks him.

Harry nods. “What’re you having?”

“Just a beer,” says Louis, showing Harry the bottle. “M’not drinking much tonight.”

“Why not?” Harry asks. “Drinking’s fun.”

He burps loudly to punctuate his sentence, and Louis almost spits out his beer from laughter.

“I have a cast meeting tomorrow morning,” Louis says after he’s calmed down. “Can’t afford to be hungover for it.”

“What for?”

“The family musical,” says Louis. “As in, the musical that gets put on during family weekend.”

Harry vaguely remembers his mom saying something about family weekend before she dropped him off for college. It happens sometime in November, he thinks, and it’s basically a huge opportunity for students’ families to visit Lincoln and find out everything their kids have been up to, including going to a football game, seeing a comedy show, and attending a musical, if they’re so inclined.

“I think my mom got tickets to come,” Harry tells Louis.

“Oh, nice!” says Louis. “You should take her to see the musical. Perrie and I are both in it.”

“What musical is it?” asks Harry.

“We’re doing Wicked this year,” Louis says. “Trying to capitalize on the Idina Menzel craze, I guess.”

“Is that the one with the green lady?”

Louis laughs, setting his empty bottle down on an end table. “Yes, that’s the one with the green lady. Honestly, Styles, you’re probably the most uncultured person I’ve ever met.”

“Ex _cuse_ you,” Harry says, trying very hard to sit up straight and puff out his chest. “I am _perfectly_ cultured. Just not with musicals. Ask me about obscure bands, I’m your man.”

“No thank you,” Louis laughs. “I’ll reconsider if you come to the musical in November.”

“Done.”

Harry leans his head on Louis’s shoulder at that, and although Louis tenses up at first, he eventually relaxes into the touch. Harry’s drunk brain, heedless of the fact that he’s recently agreed not to pursue anything with Louis for several months, whirrs as he tries to come up with a good way to convince Louis to take him to bed.

Unfortunately, Stan chooses that time to poke his head into the TV room and yell, “Lou, you up for pong? Zayn just left me and I don’t wanna lose the table.”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis yells back, very gently sitting up as Harry does the same. “You’re feeling better, right, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs.

“Maybe don’t drink anything for another hour or so,” Louis says as he stands up. “Unless it’s water.”

“You got it,” Harry says glumly, feeling a little bit like a helpless child as he watches Louis leave.

Just to be contrary, five minutes later Harry walks into the kitchen and takes a shot of tequila with Normani and Lauren. That proves to be a bad idea, though, because his stomach churns just like it did that first band party. Maybe Harry’s body doesn’t like tequila.

“I think I’m gonna head outside,” he tells the girls, mixing another drink before heading out for the front porch just in case he actually ends up vomiting. Either way, he’ll get some fresh air.

Harry stumbles out onto the porch, cup still in his hand, and tries to focus on not throwing up.

“You alright?”

Harry turns, noticing that Zayn is sitting on the porch swing. He gulps, swallowing awkwardly when he remembers that Zayn doesn’t like him, and nods as he tries to force the vomit back down.

“You just look like you’re gonna puke, is all,” Zayn says, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling smoke into the humid night.

“M’alright,” Harry grits out. He actively resists holding his stomach.

Zayn laughs. “You know what, I like you, man. Come sit.”

Wait. _What?_

“What do you mean, what?” Zayn asks. Harry’s stomach lurches when he realizes that he said that out loud.

“C’mon, take a seat.”

Harry’s spared the embarrassment of having to explain to Zayn why Zayn himself doesn’t like Harry, so he takes a seat next to Zayn on the porch swing and drinks deeply from whatever’s in his solo cup (he thinks it was recently rum and Coke? Maybe? Honestly, who knows). The porch swing sways a little, and Harry sags into Zayn to catch his balance.

“Easy,” Zayn mutters. “Don’t wanna break it.”

“Is it yours?” Harry asks.

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, like I brought my own porch swing to my shitty rental house and nailed it to the ceiling outside.”

Harry’s cheeks color.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Zayn says once he sees Harry’s face. “The _more_ unbelievable thing is that I would have a fucking porch swing."

“What do you mean?” asks Harry.

Zayn sighs. “I’m from Englewood.”

“Liam said you were from Chicago,” Harry says.

“Englewood’s a neighborhood on the south side of Chicago,” Zayn says, a patient tone to his voice that Harry’s never heard before. Harry’s just glad that Zayn isn’t yelling at him, seeing as the other boy still doesn’t like him.

“Like Brighton on the north side?”

Zayn snorts. “Brighton’s a _suburb._ Englewood’s…. Englewood’s a neighborhood, but we still live in Chicago. Like, the city proper.”

“Why can’t you have a porch swing?” Harry asks.

“My mom didn’t like for us to play outside in the front,” Zayn explains as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Or, like, be outside near the street. Too many drive-bys.”

“Drive-by shootings?” Harry asks, feeling like he’s only ever heard about that in movies.

Zayn nods. “I mean, it wasn’t like anyone in my family was involved, but Mom didn’t want to risk it. I don’t blame her.”

“Involved in what?” asks Harry. He’s starting to feel like he’s slipping back into the role of the freshman who asks too many questions, but Zayn seems receptive enough that Harry isn’t too mad at himself.

“Gangs,” Zayn answers as he takes another drag. “I had some friends that were, but none of the gangs ever approached me, _mashallah.”_

“What?”

“Sorry, I’m a little bit-” Zayn coughs, taking a drink from his beer before sucking on his cigarette again. His face twists bitterly as he continues, “m’a little bit drunk. I just mean none of the gangs near me wanted a _towelhead_ in their group, so I never had to deny anyone anything.”

He glances over at Harry, and he must take in Harry’s doe-eyed, confused expression because he tips his head back and laughs until he’s holding his sides. “God, you’re funny.”

“I don’t mean to be,” Harry pouts, taking another long sip of his drink for something to do.

He just - he just doesn’t _get_ Zayn, is the thing. With everyone else he’s interacted with at length in college so far, Harry has _clicked_ with, like there’s been a moment where he’s fundamentally understood who they are and what drives them to do what they do. He hasn’t gotten that with Zayn, and it frustrates him beyond belief. Zayn is so confusing.

“I know you don’t,” Zayn laughs. He takes another drink of his beer. “I can see why Louis likes you.”

Harry chokes on his drink. “I thought you didn’t - I thought you didn’t want Louis to like me.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Zayn says casually. He slings an arm around the back of the porch swing. “But I can see why he does. You’re cute.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t think you’re s’posed to be cute in college.”

“Probably not,” Zayn agrees. “But you are.”

“I want to be like Liam,” Harry sighs, the alcohol swirling around in his head as he leans back and looks up at the peeling paint on the ceiling of the porch. “He’s not cute. He’s _manly.”_

Zayn laughs even louder. “You’re just making me like you even more.”

“I _wish,”_ Harry says, barely conscious of what he’s saying at this point. “I don’t know a ton about you but even I know that I have to, like, _earn_ you liking me or whatever.”

“I’m not-”

“Like, you’re _dating_ Liam and you won’t even hold his hand,” Harry interrupts Zayn, sighing again as he tries to take another sip of his drink and ends up spilling it all over himself.

Zayn tenses up. “That doesn’t have anything to do with me not liking him.”

“Then why won’t you?”

“It’s not Liam’s problem, it’s mine,” Zayn says cryptically. “Like, no matter what boy I was dating, I wouldn’t hold his hand. I’m working on it, but-”

“Why not?”

Zayn sighs. “You don’t get what I mean when I say I’m southside, do you?”

“You’re from south of the city,” Harry says dutifully.

“Jesus,” Zayn snorts. “I - look, Englewood’s a lot different than Brighton, alright, Harry? And fucking _Portland_ , obviously. Where I’m from kids get beat up for being fags, and my friends - my friends would look at me like I was a fucking _freak_ if they knew I was gay. I can’t have them know. And my dad - I don’t even know _what_ my dad would think. I’m too fucking scared to tell him.”

“I’m sure he’ll love you no matter what,” Harry says.

Zayn laughs. “I’m his only son, Harry, and I’m fucking gay. It always - it always fucks him up when he finds out I get beat up for having brown skin, I know it _kills_ him whenever he finds that out, okay? I get in enough fights as it is back home just 'cause he moved here to try and give me and my sisters a better life. He’s already under enough stress, I don’t want his heart giving out when he finds out his only son’s a fag, too.”

Harry bristles at the word. Zayn’s used it a couple of times now, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring.  
“I just don’t want to give him something _new_ to worry about on top of everything else, you know?” Zayn continues.

“But, like, being gay isn’t something anyone should have to _worry_ about,” Harry says slowly. “It’s just part of who you are, you know?”

He finally feels well enough to take another sip of drink, not feeling in imminent danger of throwing up, so he does as Zayn replies, “Look, that’s a nice thought and all, but I don’t think you understand. I’ve watched my friends beat up some kid after he came out our freshman year of high school, I _know_ they wouldn’t look at me the same way if I told them. And you should hear the tirade my dad went on one year when we were downtown at the same time as the pride parade a few years ago. Fuck.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and grinds it into the cement with his shoe.

Harry swallows loudly, choosing to ignore the last part of Zayn’s statement as he says, “Those don’t sound like good friends, then.”

“No, they’re great guys,” Zayn says with a wave of his hand.

“Except for the homophobic part…”

Zayn shrugs. “They’re not homophobic, I dunno. It’s not their fault that I’m like this.”

He laughs at Harry’s outraged expression. “It’s fucked up, I know. Lou tells me that every day, so I don’t need another lecture from a fuckin’ freshman.”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Harry says quietly. “Just, like - being gay isn’t a bad thing.”

Zayn snorts derisively. “Whatever you say, dude.”

They both sip from their drinks, and Harry watches with dismay as Zayn pulls out another cigarette and lights it.

“What were we talking about before this?” Zayn asks with the cigarette between his lips.

“Um, Liam, I think,” says Harry.

Zayn’s face twists into a wry smile. “Liam.”

He has an odd way of saying Liam’s name, almost like he’s drawing the vowels out.

“You know, Liam’s the whole reason I ever came out to anyone in the first place,” Zayn says, stretching back and making the porch swing rock slightly.

“Really?” Harry asks, curious. “Just since last year?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t out at all before them,” says Zayn. He looks over at Harry. “Lemme guess, you figured out you were gay in, like, freshman year of high school, and you told your mom and she cried and hugged you and told you she’d love you no matter what, and you told your friends and they were super supportive, and then you joined your school’s fuckin’, I don’t know, _rainbow coalition_ or whatever, and it was all smiles and hugs and flowers.”

“It was called the Straight and Gay Alliance, not rainbow coalition,” Harry says defensively.

Zayn cackles. “Whatever, man. Point is, I didn’t have any _reason_ at all to come out until Liam came along. Why the fuck would I tell anyone if I pretty much knew they weren’t going to support me?”

“But Liam changed that?” Harry presses. He takes another sip of his drink, suddenly unable to imagine moving from the porch swing.

“Mhmm,” Zayn nods. “I’m, like - and I’m trying to get better about holding his hand and stuff, y’know. You should’ve seen how I was when we first got together, I was scared to even _look_ at him in public. But I really am trying to get better. Y’know, for him.”

Zayn smiles again, a small little private smile that Harry realizes isn’t meant for him.

“Aww,” Harry coos. He can’t help himself. “How’d you guys meet, anyway?”

Zayn coughs. “Uh, I - well, I guess I was lying a little bit when I said I wasn’t out to _anyone_ before Liam and I got together. Lou knew, so he was the one who kinda set me and Liam up in the first place.”

“Louis knew?”

Zayn nods.

That makes Harry smile, for some reason. “That’s cute, though. I guess he kind of gives off a trustworthy vibe, right? I’d tell him, too.”

“Well, he kind of figured it out when he asked if he could suck my dick and I said yes.”

Harry chokes on the last of his drink. _“What?”_

“First band party, our freshman year,” Zayn laughs, taking a drag of his cigarette. “It was the start of a great friendship, honestly.”

Harry feels a surge of jealousy sweep over him, but honestly - Zayn and Louis are _both_ two of the most attractive boys he’s ever seen, so he can’t blame either of them one bit. “But there’s not, like - that’s all in the past, right?”

“Ooh, someone’s jealous,” Zayn teases, nudging Harry’s shoulder knowingly. “God, I can’t wait for this semester to be over so you can both stop moping.”

“M’not moping,” Harry pouts.  
“You definitely are,” says Zayn.

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but just then the front door opens and Liam wanders out onto the porch, his face lighting up when he sees the pair of them on the porch swing.

“Hey, guys,” Liam says cheerfully, squeezing in between them and throwing his arm around Zayn. “What’s up?”

“I was just telling Harry how we met, actually,” Zayn says, his eyes glinting as he smirks at Harry. “Which includes Louis finding out I was gay.”

“Oh,” Liam laughs a second later, his face changing in comprehension. He laughs, getting even louder when he turns and sees the look on Harry’s face. “Oh my god, look at him!”

“I know, he’s so jealous,” Zayn snickers, turning his face into Liam’s neck.

“Stop it,” Harry whines.

“God, this is too good,” laughs Liam. “Honestly, babe, I should probably thank Louis more often for sucking your dick, because otherwise he might never’ve set us up.”

“What the fuck,” says Harry.

They don’t hear him, though, too caught up in drunkenly laughing together, and then Liam dips down to kiss Zayn full on the mouth and it gets kind of awkward when they don’t really stop.

“I’ll just, uh,” Harry tries, slowly getting up and trying not to jostle the two boys making out on the porch swing. He stumbles a little bit, suddenly realizing how drunk he is. “I’ll see you guys later. Good talk, Zayn.”

xxx

The next thing Harry knows, he’s waking up in his own bed in his dorm room and the sun is shining bright through the curtains.

He groans, rolling over and croaking from how dry his mouth is, and immediately wishes he hadn’t woken up - his head is _pounding,_ and his hands and feet are tingling in a way that he doesn’t know how to cure.

“Oh, you’re up,” he hears from the bunk underneath him.

“What the hell happened?” Harry asks, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to block out the sunlight.

“Oh, did you black out?” Niall asks. “Figures, you were pretty drunk.”

 _Black out?_ What does that mean? “I passed out?”

“I mean, when you got here, yeah,” says Niall. “I had to help lift you onto that top bunk, dude, you almost made a nest out of your dirty laundry and slept on the floor.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Harry says, feeling horrified. Where’d his memory go?

“Yeah, like I said, you must’ve blacked out,” Niall says casually. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Harry thinks, hard. “Um…. I remember having a heart-to-heart with Zayn on the porch.”

 _“Zayn?_ And you? Had a heart to heart?” Niall asks, bursting into laughter after Harry grunts in confirmation. “Booze does amazing things, man.”

“Not to my head,” Harry complains, which just makes Niall laugh harder. “But yeah, we were out on the porch talking, then Liam came outside and I left when they started making out. Everything after that is just.... nothing. Oh my god, this is so weird.”

“Hey, it happens.”

“It does?”  
Niall gets out of bed, grinning up at Harry. “Sure it does. Everyone blacks out a couple times in college. It’s, like, the body’s way of letting you know your hard limits on how much you can have.”

“Jesus.”

“How much did you have, anyway?”

“I have no clue,” says Harry. “I don’t know how much I had after I talked with Zayn.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either,” says Niall. “You disappeared down to the dance floor for, like, an hour or so, and I have no clue what went on down there.”

“Oh my god,” Harry groans.

Niall fills him in on the rest of the stuff that happened at the party and catches him up on recent band gossip, which Harry is quickly becoming addicted to. Since it’s only ten, though, Harry gets up to pee and drink some water and then goes back to sleep for a few more hours after Niall sagely advises him that the only thing that really helps hangovers is time.

When he wakes up at noon, Harry’s still uneasy about the few missing hours of his life from last night - what if he did something to embarrass himself on the dance floor? - and it kind of scares him that he might never get those hours back. He won’t be drinking like that for quite a while, that’s for sure.

At one o’clock Liam texts the mellophone group chat and asks if they want to get a group together to watch the football game at the local Buffalo Wild Wings. Harry asks Niall if he wants to come, too, but Niall informs him that the sousas are going to watch the game at JJ’s apartment.

Harry takes a quick shower just so he feels mostly human again, then wanders down the hall to Liam’s room and knocks on the door.

“Coming!” he hears.

Liam opens the door, inviting Harry inside while he puts his shoes on, and Harry discovers that Liam’s room is just as orderly as he expected it to be. He’s not sure if Liam keeps it this way all the time or if it’s just because classes have only been in session for a week, but either way it looks a hell of a lot better than Harry and Niall’s room does right now.

He and Liam walk to Buffalo Wild Wings together, and after Harry asks Liam about the upcoming rush week for his fraternity, Liam launches into a detailed account of each night’s festivities as a still-hungover Harry occasionally clutches his own head just to make sure he’s still whole. They meet up with the rest of the mellos at ‘BDubs,’ as Liam calls it, and they all tuck into chicken wings and fries as they watch Lincoln play Boston College.

It’s a mildly depressing game, not just because Harry has to watch it on a television screen after seeing the last two up close and in person. One of their starting running backs gets injured, which makes Liam and Matt stand up and start swearing at the TV, and not much scoring happens at all in the first half, which makes for a very tense atmosphere at the table during halftime.

Luckily, though, the game turns around in the second half, with Lincoln scoring two touchdowns and a field goal unanswered during the third quarter, which is enough to let them keep the lead throughout the rest of the game. Delirious with happiness and finally over his hangover, Harry whoops and cheers when it’s over, and the table of mellophones clap and lead the rest of the bar in a rendition of the Lincoln Rouser.

xxx

At marching band practice on Monday, Dr. Higgins announces that their official away game is going to be next weekend at Jackson University.

Liam groans loudly and Dr. Higgins laughs.

“I’m sure all of you from Iowa are very happy right now,” he says into the megaphone with a chuckle. “We do like to go to Jackson for away games, though, because it’s one of the closest schools and doesn’t make for too long of a bus ride.”

“We’re actually going to an away game?” Harry whispers to Cher.

Cher nods. “Yeah, we go to one as a band every year. Jackson’s in Davenport, near where Liam’s from.”

“Tonight, you’ll be getting an email from Greg asking you who you want to room with during the trip, so I’m going to need you to fill out that form no later than tomorrow evening,” Dr. Higgins continues. “If you don’t select someone, Greg will randomly assign someone to be your roommate, and I’m sure you’d all prefer to choose.”

Greg waves cheekily at them from where he’s standing next to the podium.

George makes eye contact with Harry and raises an eyebrow meaningfully. Harry nods, figuring it’s best to room within the section, and just like that he has his roommate.

“It’s an afternoon game, so we’ll be driving down the night before, then driving back here after the game. You’ll all be getting $20 of per diem to spend on food during the trip, which Greg and Nick will distribute when we get closer to the trip.”

The band murmurs excitedly.

“When we pass out per diem, we’ll also go over behavioral guidelines that we expect all of you to adhere to during the trip. You’ll be representing Lincoln while you’re there - the entire music department, as well as the general student body. So choose your roommates carefully, and make sure you don’t do anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing in front of the grads or myself.”

Leigh-Anne snickers and elbows Louis in the side, and he shoves her back angrily, his cheeks going pink. The rest of the band nods, but Harry stares at the two of them curiously.

“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s pick up where we left off last Friday,” Dr. Higgins says. “Let’s go to page fifteen of your drill charts.”

xxx

Another week of classes down, Harry goes to bed nice and early Friday, even though Niall’s out partying with Sigma Mu. Harry hadn’t gone to any of the Sig Mu rush week events this week, preferring instead to stay in and do work with the guys on his floor (and, a few times, at Starbucks with Louis), but he’d promised Niall that he’d go out with him tomorrow night.

It also means that Harry can take advantage of his empty room and get himself off nice and slow, feeling comfortable enough to finger himself for the first time since he’s come to college. He watches a little bit of porn to get started but spends the rest of the time on his back in bed, his legs spread as he fucks himself with two fingers and bites his lip to keep quiet. Harry manages to keep his thoughts mostly on amateur porn videos he’s watched in the past, but when he gets close his thoughts turn to Louis, _like the always fucking do,_ imagining how Louis’s fingers would feel instead of his own.

When he comes, it’s with thoughts of Louis’s blue eyes seared into his mind, and it feels amazing to clench around his fingers and come with something inside him as he shoots over his stomach. Harry sighs, his eyelids drooping as he comes very close to falling asleep naked with come on his tummy and no alarm set.

He wants to get at least one night of good sleep this weekend, though, so he finally drags himself out of bed and cleans himself off. Finally, Harry gets back in bed, closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him, snuggling under the covers and sighing as he tries not to wish that a very specific someone was cuddling him to sleep.

And fails.

Harry is so, _so_ fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will finally contain a DETAILED description of a game, plus the away trip, plus Homecoming. Hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought in the comments.
> 
> P.S. for those concerned about lack of smut - we're not going to go the entire fic without having any real smut. I know Louis set boundaries, but 'No Control' was written for a reason, and that reason is that Harry and Louis just can't stay away from each other for long. ;)


	5. how it feels to take a fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds out how emotionally exhausting college can really be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long - my 1D muse had been gone for a while, but now I can happily say it's back! Expect more regular updates from now on. I apologize again. Hope you like the chapter!
> 
> Warning for dubious consent (drunk hookup).

Harry’s alarm goes off at 9:00 am the next morning, and he hits snooze a couple of times before finally rolling out of bed twenty minutes later.

Bus runs are at ten, so Harry washes his face and brushes his teeth across the hall before padding back into his room and shaking Niall awake. Harry feels good after a full night of sober sleep, and though the same obviously can’t be said for his roommate, Niall puts on a brave face and thanks Harry for waking him up.

Once they’re dressed in their uniforms and getting ready to go, Harry grabs a granola bar and asks Niall if he’d like one as well.

“Nah, I don’t think I can stomach anything right now,” Niall says, his face still a little pale. He straps his shako onto his head. “Gonna stop at the water fountain, though.”

Once they’re at the bus stop, Harry clutching his mellophone case and Niall clutching his stomach, other band members start to join them. It’s still hard for Harry to tell who everyone is when they’re all in uniform because everyone looks the same - people with long hair have to wear it tucked up in the shako, no makeup or jewelry is allowed, and some people are wearing their shakos forward so it’s hard to see their eyes.

“It’s getting cooler out,” Niall notes.

“Yeah, I’m at the point where I don’t, like, _totally_ mind having this uniform on,” Jade says.

“But you’d still rather not be wearing it?” asks George.

“Duh, of course not,” says Jade, rolling her eyes as they all laugh. She’s right, it’s still a little too warm out for the uniform to be fully comfortable. “If I wanted to wear something that completely obscured my figure I’d just wear sweatpants.”

“Morning, freshmen,” they hear Aiden call cheerfully, and they turn to see their section leader striding up to the bus stop, Matt on his heels.

“God, I love afternoon games,” Matt says. “Don’t have to get up too early but there’s still time for dinner afterwards before we get wasted.”

“Speaking of that, do you guys wanna try going to Las Palmas tonight?” Aiden asks.

“Can I come?” Niall asks before any of the mellophones can answer.

Aiden laughs. “Sorry, bro, JJ would kill us.”

Niall sighs. “He only ever takes us to Lou Malnati’s after games.”

One of the sophomore sousaphones nearby joins in. “And Lou Malnati’s isn’t even _good_ deep dish!”

 _That_ starts a heated argument that lasts until the buses pull up. There are five of them, and each section has a specific bus they’re supposed to get on so it’s easier for section leaders to take attendance. The mellophones get on the fifth bus, joining the rest of their section who had already gotten on at earlier stops.

“Hey, guys!” Liam says cheerfully.

Harry slides into the empty seat next to him. “Why didn’t you get on at our stop?”

“Slept over at Zayn’s,” Liam says with an apologetic shrug. “His house is closer to the second stop.”

“Niall was at some Sigma Mu party yesterday, did you go to that too?”

“Nah, I’d been doing rush stuff all week so I didn’t feel like going,” Liam says, stretching out a bit in the cramped bus seat. “Was good to spend a night in.”

His lips quirk up into a small smile and he gets this kind of faraway look in his eyes. Harry blushes, only just now registering the pink glow to Liam’s cheeks for what it is.

Then Harry coughs and Liam seems to snap out of it. “But, uh - right, well, there’s another party tonight and I kinda _have_ to go to that one. You should come, dude, even if you aren’t thinking about joining.”

“Niall’s been trying to get me to go all week,” Harry admits.

Liam grins. “Of course he has. Everyone fuckin’ loves him over there.”

By the time the buses arrive to Lincoln Stadium, Liam has managed to finally get a verbal agreement out of Harry to go to the damn party, something Niall hadn’t been able to do all week. The mellophones get off the bus and walk to the fieldhouse as unit, chattering the whole way.

It’s only about 10:20 in the morning and kickoff doesn’t happen until 2 in the afternoon, so the field is pretty much deserted. Tailgaters are already set up in various parking lots around the stadium, and Harry hears loud music and drunken shouts drifting over to the fieldhouse.

Today, they’re playing Rice University in their last nonconference game of the season.

“Is Rice any good?” Harry asks Matt as the band starts setting up their instruments.

Matt shrugs. “They’re not _terrible,_ but they still shouldn’t be giving us any trouble.”

“Yeah, but you saw how inconsistent we were against Boston College,” Cher interjects. “And with Williams injured…”

“True,” Matt admits. Harry remembers that a running back got injured during last weekend’s game. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

“I don’t like our chances against Jackson next week, though,” Cam puts in.

“Hey now, let’s just - we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, how ‘bout that?” Liam grimaces.

Matt laughs. “I know what you mean, dude, I hate Jackson too.”

“Try growing up in the town where _literally everyone_ is a Jackson fan and then going to school here.”

“Alright everyone, let’s go out to the practice field,” Dr. Higgins calls, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The band filters out of the fieldhouse and back behind a large training facility, where there’s an outdoor practice field that the football team occasionally uses. On game days, though, the band gets it all to themselves to warm up for the day.

First, Louis and Leigh-Anne lead them through stretches, even though it’s a little harder for all of them to do in their bulky uniforms. It’s their third home game and Harry _still_ hasn’t gotten over how nice Louis’s ass looks in that white uniform, but he does his best to ignore it for the time being.

Then, they warm up as sections; Aiden leads the mellophones through scales and runs of the pregame and halftime music, then they kind of fuck around with fun warmup exercises until the rest of the sections are done as well. After that, Dr. Higgins calls them together to run through the Star Trek and Star Wars music as an ensemble and helps them troubleshoot difficult spots.

“Sousas, we’re gonna need you to come through even more at measure 70. Let’s run your part just by itself - actually, let’s have all low brass at 70.”

“Altos, are you _sure_ you tuned? Listen to yourselves.”

“Flutes and clarinets, you know what spot I want to go over. It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m really pleased with the progress you’ve made so far, but let’s see if we can’t make it even better.”

“Drumline, listen down to the bass drums during the break. Snares, listen in to Zayn, make sure you’re not playing louder than him.”

After they’ve done a full run-through of the halftime music, the band lines up to do a practice run of pregame. This is Harry’s least favorite part, because his legs and lungs only really have _one_ good pregame run in them, so doing it once _before_ the actual game always makes him feel like he’s pushing himself too far.

It’s even worse, then, when Higgins isn’t pleased with their high-step the first time through and makes them go back and do it _again._

“You call that high-step?” he yells through the megaphone as they all groan and walk back to the sidelines. “Your feet were barely off the ground! Let’s see it like you mean it this time because we don’t have _time_ to do it again - it’s game day!”

Some of the band members weakly cheer, but most, like Harry, are still trying to catch their breath enough to do it again.

Luckily, their next try at high-stepping onto the field is satisfying enough for Dr. Higgins that he lets them continue on with the trial run of the rest of pregame. By the end of it, the weather outside doesn’t seem cool anymore - the sun is starting to beat down on them, and Harry’s sweating into his shako and thick wool uniform.

“Alright, now we just have to do a trial run of halftime and we’re good to go,” Higgins says through the megaphone.

Halftime, of course, is less exhausting and physical than pregame is, so by the time they’re done with that the sweat has started to cool on the back of Harry’s neck. They have to practice the part where Louis and Leigh-Anne use fire extinguishers to create spaceship contrails a couple of times, but other than that, Dr. Higgins seems pleased with their performance.

There’s no rest for the weary, though, because it’s almost 11:30 and that’s when the football team is supposed to arrive to the field.

“Alright, time to go play for the team!” Higgins yells through the megaphone. “Chop chop, they’re supposed to be here in a few minutes.”

As per usual, the band lines up in two parallel lines to form a tunnel leading from the street, where the team will pull up in a coach bus, to the locker rooms.

“Has the team ever been, like, late before?” Harry asks Liam as they line up.

“Only by a few minutes,” Liam says. “Otherwise we’d be here chanting all day, and that would get old _real_ fast.”

They do chants for a few minutes before the team gets there - there’s a different drum cadence for each cheer, like “Go Lincoln Go” or “Here we go Tigers, here we go.” Harry felt a bit silly doing them during the first game, but at this point he’s absorbed enough school spirit that he actually thinks they’re sort of fun.

When the team arrives, the band launches into a loop of the Lincoln Rouser, swinging their instruments from side to side as the team walks into their makeshift tunnel. First comes the head coach of the football team, Coach Kimball, followed by a few Brighton police officers. Then come the assistant coaches, then all of the football players follow him. Everyone’s wearing suits or nice sweaters and slacks, decked out for the occasion, and Harry spots Craig, the cornerback he talked to at the party two weeks ago, and notes with pleasure that he fills out his suit quite nicely.

Once the whole team has passed by the band, Dr. Higgins and the drum majors give them the signal to stop playing.

“Alright everyone, it’s been a long morning and you’ve done a fantastic job with everything. Let’s get some food!” Dr. Higgins yells.

There’s a mad dash for the fieldhouse - Harry’s learned during times like this to take advantage of his long legs, because the sooner he gets back to the fieldhouse and puts down his instrument, the sooner he can get in line for the food buffet that gets put out for them while they’re practicing.

xxx

After they have lunch, the band gets a little bit of downtime to rest, so Harry and the rest of the mellophones take off their uniform jackets and stretch out for a quick nap on the bleachers inside the fieldhouse.

Harry can’t quite fall asleep, though, drifting in and out of a little doze as he listens to the half-hearted chatter of some of the other band members. A lot of people are trying to get in some rest before the game, but some people are playing group activities or chatting about other football games going on that day. Louis’s voice occasionally carries over from where he’s sitting with the trumpets, and although Harry can’t pick out any specific words, it still makes him smile all the same.

The two tenor drum players are trying to tune their drums to match each other’s pitch, which is the main reason that Harry can’t fully fall asleep. And, all too soon, Higgins is blowing his whistle, alerting everyone that it’s time to get ready for their pregame concert.

An hour before kickoff, the band stands in concert formation and performs in front of the stadium for any fans that want to watch them. They usually draw a decently large crowd - granted, a large percentage of attendees are often drunk off their asses, but the band still appreciates the sentiment.

As they file into formation, Harry sees that today there’s a pretty large crowd of people wearing navy and gold “LUMT” t-shirts cheering them on.

“Oh, the alums are here!” Liam says happily. “They finally made it this time.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

“Well, a bunch of them come to every game, but apparently for the last couple of games they’ve gotten too drunk at the tailgate and haven’t been able to make it to see us play before we take the field,” says Liam.

He waves at one of them, who waves back and yells, “Woo! Go mellos!”

Because of the marching band alums’ enthusiastic presence at their concert, Harry enjoys it even more than he’s enjoyed the previous two. There’s an announcer there with them who gets the crowd fired up for the game in between their songs, and by the time it’s over, Harry’s ready to see their team pummel Rice into the ground.

The band cheers when their performance is over and launches straight into their pregame “rituals” - for the mellophones, this means standing in a circle and answering Aiden in a call-and-response chant.

(Harry has learned quickly that marching bands lean heavily on tradition and ritual, more so than he would’ve expected, but it just makes the entire experience even more fun.)

Their section’s particular ritual is to the tune of the Spongebob Squarepants theme. It’s maybe a little bit stupid, but everyone else gets really into it and it's no more stupid than any of the other sections' cheers.

“Oooooohhhhh…… who’s the greatest section in all Lincoln’s band?”

“L-U-Mell-os!”

“Who plays all the offbeats, gives trumpets a hand?”

“L-U-Mell-os!”

“Without us the music would sound flat and dull!”

“L-U-Mell-os!”

“Through high-step, through glide-step, we master it all!”

“L-U-Mell-os!”

Once they’re finished with the chant, they line up with the rest of the band in preparation to high-step into the stadium. It seems like there are more people here than previous games, and Harry mentions this to Camila.

“Well, yeah, everyone’s on campus now,” Camila explains. “Plus it’s getting closer to conference play, so people are getting more excited about the team. We’re still undefeated, you know.”

In front of them, Ant snorts. “Being undefeated in nonconference is almost _expected_ of us, at this point. We better win this game.”

Harry’s stomach flutters nervously, and he realizes that he’s nervous - not for marching onto the field during pregame, but nervous for their _team._ He’s never felt this invested in sports before, Jesus.

Before he can think about that further, though, the announcer’s voice booms over the stadium’s giant speakers, prompting the band to stand at attention. _“Ladies and gentlemen… for over ninety years, they’ve stuck by the team through thick and thin…”_

The crowd starts cheering for them - he’s announcing the band, after all, and all eyes in the stadium are now on them. Harry hears Zayn tap off a beat on his snare drum, signaling the band to start high-stepping, and once the whole drumline starts playing, they’re off.

xxx

It’s a tough game. Harry hadn’t realized how essential Ibraheim Williams was as a running back until he sees the way the team plays without him. Because of his absence, they don’t have nearly as many big plays, meaning that it’s more difficult to get the fans fired up when Lincoln gains yards. However, Rice’s offense is even worse and Lincoln’s defense is still very competent, so it’s a very low-scoring game.

The crowd _loves_ the spaceship they form - Harry finds out later that it’s very obvious and visible on the Jumbotron, and that the contrails formed by Louis and Leigh’s fire extinguishers make it even more enjoyable.

Lincoln wins in the end, 17-10, and it seems like the whole band lets out a sigh of relief.

xxx

The band plays their customary postgame show on the field; it’s nothing strenuous, just standing in place and playing their halftime tunes for anyone who wants to stick around. It’s good that it’s not difficult, because the day had gotten steadily more humid and Harry feels sticky under his uniform and shako.

“So you _are_ going to Sig Mu tonight, right?” Liam asks Harry as they put their instruments away back in the fieldhouse.

Everyone’s talking about what they plan to do for the rest of the night to celebrate.

“Yeah, I said I would. Wait - is there a band party?”

Liam snorts. “Always.”

“Are you - you’re not going to that?”

“I’ll probably stop by later,” Liam says. “We’ll see, though, I’m not sure.”

Harry frowns.

“Hey, it’s not like we _have_ to go to all of the band parties, right? It’s fun to mix it up once in a while,” Liam explains. “Especially for you, if you want to meet people outside of the band.”

That’s a good point. It’s just - Harry feels really attached to everyone in the band, and it seems especially weird to think about getting drunk - something he’s only ever done with band people - in a frat house surrounded by mostly strangers.

“Tell you what, if you’re still up for going later, we’ll walk over there together after Sig Mu,” Liam says, probably noticing the look on Harry’s face.

Harry brightens at that. “Deal.”

xxx

When Harry steps into the frat house, Liam on one side and Niall on the other, he immediately thinks that he made a mistake.

A bunch of tall guys in tank tops and snapbacks yell Niall and Liam’s names, clapping them on the back and pressing bottles of beer into their hands, but obviously no one cares if Harry’s there or not because nobody _knows_ him. Harry misses his band friends immediately.

They’d done a shot in Liam’s room (Liam, on account of being an RA, had sworn them to absolute secrecy about it) before coming over, but even that small amount of liquid courage isn’t enough to make him feel any better right now.

“C’mon, dude, I’ll introduce you to some of the other pledges,” Niall says, grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him through the crowded hallway. “They’re awesome.”

Harry’s always been pretty good with names, but there’s lots of noise in the room and alcohol in his bloodstream, so he only ends up remembering the names of about half of Niall’s friends. They’re nice enough, though, and they’re quick to offer Harry his pick of “good” beer from a small mini-fridge in a separate room - because apparently Harry’s one of the guys now. Harry recognizes Blue Moon from when he drank it with people in the band house a couple weeks ago, so he grabs one of those.

This isn’t just a party, though - it’s the last night for the pledges to impress the fraternity upperclassmen before bids are given out tomorrow, though, so Harry understands when Niall and some of the others have to slip away to interact with some of the older guys. Unfortunately, since Niall’s trying to impress people and Liam’s busy being impressed by pledges, that leaves Harry knowing zero people at the party. He talks for a bit with some of the more relaxed pledges that Niall introduced him to and watches the growing dance floor attract more and more people, girls in cute skirts and dresses dancing together in packs as boys watch and talk amongst themselves.

It’s a little weird, actually, but the more pressing matter is that Harry’s out of beer. He makes his way over to the drinks table and sifts through a cooler filled with ice and various kinds of light beer, and when he straightens back up, he comes face to face with Lauren, a freshman from marching band he’s talked to a couple of times.

“Hey Harry!” she squeals, giving him a hug.

“Lauren, hi,” he says, smiling afterwards. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she says. “I thought you would be at the band party!”

Harry shrugs. “Might go in a little while, but I wanted to meet different people, you know?”

“Oh, I totally understand,” Lauren says. “Everyone in band’s so nice, but I don’t want to limit myself to knowing just them. Are you rushing Sig Mu?”

“No,” Harry laughs. “My roommate Niall is, though, and he convinced me to come.”

“Niall the sousaphone?”

Harry nods and takes a sip of his beer. “His dad was in Sig Mu when he went to school here.”

“Oh, a legacy,” says Lauren. “That’s awesome. I came here with a couple people from my floor, and one of them’s a Sig Mu legacy but he’s not rushing.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Lauren shrugs. “I just think he didn’t want to go greek. Actually - wait, you’re gay, right?”

“...Yes?” Harry answers, surprised at the change of topic.

Lauren’s eyes light up. “So is he! You should meet him!”

She turns and starts waving her arm around, yelling “Luke! Luke, come over here!” while Harry fights the urge to grimace and slip away. He _hates_ when people try to set him up with other guys based purely on their sexual orientation, because more often than not they don’t end up having anything else in common.

But when Lauren’s friend comes over and Harry gets a good look at his face, he might just be changing his tune. Luke is _hot,_ with dark hair and full eyelashes and clear olive skin. Harry thinks about what Louis had told him at the coffee shop - _“You can definitely see other people if you want to, freshman year’s supposed to be fun like that” -_ and thinks that if he’s going to be hooking up with people, they might as well be wildly attractive people.

Like Luke.

“Luke, this is Harry,” Lauren says loudly once the other boy has reached them. “We’re in marching band together. Harry, this is Luke. He lives on my floor.”

“Hey, man,” Luke says, extending a hand for Harry to shake.

“Hiii,” Harry drawls. He hopes he’s not blushing.

“Let’s take a shot!” Lauren yells before they can talk any further. “Then I want to get back to dancing.”

Harry only has a little bit of his beer left - wow, that one went fast - so he throws it back quickly and then accepts the shot glass that Lauren hands him. He didn’t see her pour it so he doesn’t know what’s in it, but he remembers from previous experiences that she likes to drink rum.

“What are we drinking to?” Luke asks.

Lauren yells, “Gay friends!” at the same time that Harry says, “Lincoln beating Rice?”

“Gay friends eating rice?” Luke yells over the music, cupping a hand over his ear. His eyes flick over to Harry. “Oh, are you gay?”

“Yes!” Lauren answers excitedly for Harry.

The corner of Luke’s mouth curls up, causing Harry’s own mouth to run dry. “I’ll drink to that, then.”

He throws his own shot back as Lauren cackles then does the same. Harry’s cheeks heat up, and he mutters “Jesus” under his breath before throwing back his shot and discovering that it’s rum, like he thought. He swallows it with a shudder and chucks the disposable shot glass back onto the drinks table.

“I’m gonna go dance,” Lauren yells, swaying a bit before stumbling away.

That leaves Harry alone with Luke, who smiles at him and asks, “So you’re in marching band?”

They talk about that for a bit - how they both know Lauren, what marching band’s like for Harry, how Luke likes school so far.

Then Harry asks, “So - Lauren said you’re a Sig Mu legacy, but you’re not rushing?”

Luke nods. “Yeah. My dad, my uncle, and my grandpa were all in it.”

“Holy shit,” says Harry. Luke laughs. “So why don’t you want to do it? If that’s - if you don’t mind me asking, sorry if that came out rude.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Luke says, reaching out to pat Harry on the shoulder. He doesn’t take his hand back, though, just leaves it there casually as Harry’s tummy flutters. “It’s not ‘cause I necessarily don’t want to - I’m on the varsity swim team, and we’re not supposed to join frats. Probably ‘cause it would fuck with, like, unity or whatever. I dunno.”

Oh, so he’s a _swimmer._ Of course he is. Harry swallows loudly. “Oh, okay.”

“And, like - I introduced myself their president when I got here, and he said I’m welcome anytime,” Luke continues. “So I won’t be an _official_ member, but I’ll still get to hang out with them.”

“Oh, nice,” says Harry. “Have you met Niall? He’s my roommate and he’s rushing-”

“The legacy?” asks Luke.

Harry nods, still very aware of Luke’s hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I met him. He’s a bro,” says Luke approvingly.

Harry laughs. “Yeah, he is.” He clears his throat. “So… what do you swim? Like, what’s your best stroke?”

He’s not sure how to ask the question without it sounding sexual, and the way Luke smirks suggests that he’s very aware. “I’m the best at butterfly.”

“Like Michael Phelps?” Harry asks, thinking about Luke’s back and shoulders flexing like that and feeling decidedly hot under the collar.

“That’s the goal,” Luke agrees. He squeezes Harry’s shoulder lightly. “Hey, d’you wanna dance?”

Harry grins. “Sure.”

They take another shot first - this time, it’s something that Luke suggests called Jack Daniels that tastes kind of weird but goes down easy enough. Then, Luke takes Harry’s hand and leads him out onto the dance floor, and they wedge their way into the crowd so they’re not on the edge before settling into a rhythm.

The song that’s playing is some sort of Avicii remix, and most people are just kind of jumping around to it. Harry and Luke do the same, but very close together, and by the time the song switches to something a little slower, Harry’s snaked his hands around Luke’s waist, pulling him in until their legs are just barely touching.

Luke grins and runs a hand through his hair, making Harry’s mouth water, but then he’s interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. The two of them jump apart as Harry turns around to see that it’s Liam.

“Uh, hey,” Liam says, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just about to head out for Zayn’s, are you - do you want to come?”

Harry glances over his shoulder - Luke’s still there, waiting patiently and looking at his phone as he sways to the beat.

“I think I’m gonna stay here,” he decides finally.

“Alright,” says Liam. His eyes flicker between Harry and the boy behind him. “I’ll - alright. See you later.”

He gives Harry a smile and then threads through the crowd, making his way toward the door.

“Who was that?” Luke asks when Harry turns back to him.

“My section leader,” Harry explains. “He’s also in Sig Mu, and Niall said he was a shoe-in for VP of something.”

“Oh, nice,” Luke grins, even though Harry still doesn’t quite understand what Liam’s position in the fraternity is.

“Yeah, there’s - there’s a band party happening right now, and he wanted to know if I was going.”

“You said no, though?” asks Luke. He arches an eyebrow and pulls Harry in close again.

Harry grins stupidly. “Yeah, too much fun here.”

Harry loses track of how much time passes after that - he and Luke pause their dancing a couple of times to take more shots, but other than that, they’re getting up close and personal on the dance floor, pressed in by bodies on all sides until the back of Harry’s neck feels damp with sweat and Luke has a very appealing bead of sweat running down his neck.

Before Harry can do something stupid (like lick it off), though, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket continuously, meaning that someone’s calling him.

“Sorry, I have to - phone,” he mumbles against Luke’s ear, feeling like all the alcohol is finally catching up to him as he fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket.

When he looks at the screen and sees that it’s Louis, Harry does an honest-to-god double take that has Luke laughing and reaching up to brush a stray curl off Harry’s forehead.

“I - um - I have to answer this,” Harry says slowly, biting his lip as he stares at the other boy. “I’ll be right back.”

“Will you, though?” Luke asks, arching a dark eyebrow.

Harry nods frantically, his phone still buzzing in his hand. “Yeah, I - promise! I promise!”

He leans forward to press a quick kiss to Luke’s cheek, feeling like he owes him something after dancing with him for however long they were out there, and then starts making his way through the crowd and back toward the entrance to the frat house.

Harry finally stumbles outside and answers his phone just in time. “Hiiiii.”

“Harry!” Louis’s voice screeches through the speakers. Harry winces and holds it farther away from his ears. “Harry, Harold, Harrison, how are you doing?”

Harry giggles and sits down on the front steps of Sig Mu’s porch. “I’m doing - _hic! -_ great, Louis, how’re you?”

“I’m sad,” Louis says. It sounds like he’s pouting. “I’m also really fucking drunk, but mostly sad.”

“What? Why are you sad?”

Out in the frat quad, someone’s throwing up on the grass while their friends try to console them.

“‘Cause you didn’t come to my _party,”_ Louis says loudly. “Are you too _cool_ for us already, Harry Styles? Don’t wanna asso- assot- be seen with band kids?”

“What? No, I-”

“Then why aren’t you heeeeeere,” whines Louis.

“Niall made me go to a frat party with him,” Harry says quickly, suddenly feeling bad for not accompanying Liam to the band party after all. Luke was hot - still _is_ hot, actually, and he’s still inside waiting for Harry - but hearing Louis’s voice is like a splash of cold water to Harry’s face, soothing his overheated nerves and reminding him of the little Louis-ache he feels all the fucking time.

“I know,” says Louis. “Liam told me. Where is Liam, anyway? Liam! _Liam!”_

Harry winces, holding the phone away again, as some other muffled voices answer Louis. He can hear music in the background, hear voices that he somewhat knows, which just intensifies his regret for not going to the party.

“He _what?”_ Louis shouts.

Harry can’t hear what’s said on the other end of the phone, but Louis cackles loudly and then returns his attention to Harry. _“Anyway,”_ he drawls, gulping noisily from what Harry can only assume to be a fresh drink, “Liam - um - Liam told me you were with someone.”

Just then, the door behind Harry opens with more people exiting the party, and the sudden noise is so startling that Harry yelps and lets go of his phone, in such a haste to get up that he manages to dropkick it onto the lawn.

“Shit!” he swears, diving for it as whoever’s coming out of the party laugh good-naturedly.

“Hey man, you alright?” one of them asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry calls back, picking up his phone and dusting it off before settling on his back to continue his conversation.

“Harry? Harry, are you still there?” Louis is asking frantically.

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Sorry, dropped my phone.”

“I thought you hung up on me,” Louis says. He sounds like he’s pouting a bit.

“I would never,” Harry grins.

Someone calls Louis’s name and he says, “Hold on a sec,” into the phone.

Harry listens as someone offers Louis a shot. There’s a short pause, and then Louis is spluttering and coughing. “What _was_ that?... They _make_ sriracha-flavored vodka? Are you serious?”

Louis coughs again and Harry giggles into the phone.

“Some asshole just gave me sriracha-flavored vodka,” Louis slurs to Harry, muddling up the word “sriracha” until it’s almost unrecognizable. “What was I talking to you about before this?”

“Liam, I think.”

“Ohhhhh,” Louis drawls. “Right, so _Liam_ \- wait, shit, I was gonna say a little birdie. It sounded really cool in my head. Let me - okay. A little birdie told me that you were _dancing_ with someone at Sig Mu, and that it was so - uh, that it was more _important_ than coming to our party.”

“Uhhh,” Harry stammers. Shit, he’d already forgotten about Luke. “Yeah, I was - um, it’s not - like, it was just-”

“Aw, listen to you,” laughs Louis. “Is he cute?”

Harry blushes. He doesn’t know how to answer that. “Um…”

“I hope he is,” Louis continues. “If you’re going to be hooking up with people you might as well be hooking up with cute ones.”

“Louis!” Harry squeaks, a large number of emotions running through him.

Louis laughs. “It’s alright, Harry. S’all good.”

That should be comforting, but some part of Harry - probably a larger part than he’d like to admit - wishes that Louis had reacted differently and shown some measure of jealousy. “Yeah but, like, nothing happened.”

“It’s okay if it did!” Louis yells loudly. “Don’t be ashamed! Suck a dick!”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. _“Louis!”_

“Lou, who’re you shouting at?” Harry hears Stan ask in the background.

“Harry,” Louis says dismissively, like it’s perfectly normal for him to be telling Harry Styles to suck a dick over the phone. “Honestly, Harold, I’d feel, like, guilty if you _weren’t_ using your freshman year to be a slut. That’s what I did, y’know.”

“Louis, what the fuck?” Stan yells over the phone.

Harry frowns, blushing even harder as he hears Louis and Stan start to fight over the phone Louis’s holding. He wishes - no, really, he thinks he might be _happier_ if Louis were acting jealous instead of fucking _encouraging_ Harry to hook up with somebody else. Isn’t Louis supposed to want Harry to be faithful? “Faithful,” maybe, since they aren’t really dating.

Does Louis _actually_ not care if Harry hooks up with other people?

“You hear that, Harry? I was a huge slut!” Louis shouts into the phone, sounding out of breath.

“Louis, what are you doing?” Harry asks. He ignores Louis’s statement, feeling more upset and annoyed than anything else. He wishes he was as drunk as Louis clearly is right now.

“Running from Stan,” Louis yells back. “He’s trying to take my phone away, he says I’m - he says I’m too drunk to talk to you!”

 _Stan’s pretty smart,_ Harry thinks as he listens to the slur in Louis’s words. “So should I just go back and keep dancing with him?” he asks, feeling upset.

 _“No!”_ Louis shouts quickly. “Wait, I mean - yes, yeah you should, why _shouldn’t_ you, I mean, we’re not, like-”

 _“Jesus,_ Louis,” Harry hears, and the next second he hears a loud _THUMP_ and then brief silence.

“Harry?” Stan’s voice comes through the speakers a few seconds later.

“I’m still here,” Harry replies, hoping the smirk in his voice doesn’t come through too badly.

Stan laughs. “Good. Sorry about that, man - Louis is - well, he’s kinda wasted right now. Where’re you right now?”

“Frat party.”

“So hopefully you won’t remember this either,” Stan muses. “Perfect. Alright, just - just go back to your party, alright? Stay safe, and all that. If you feel like dropping by here before three, our door’s open, y’know?”

“Got it,” says Harry. “Tell Louis goodnight for me, okay?”

 _“Your lips are really pink!”_ Louis yells in the background, and then Stan hangs up the phone without saying goodbye.

xxx

Harry heads back into the party with a blush staining his cheeks, thinking about the quick and harsh reaction Louis had to Harry mentioning dancing with someone else. Just because he knows he’s right - that Louis _is_ jealous - Harry is dead set on dancing with Luke again, and he shoulders through the crowd on the dance floor trying to find the attractive, olive-skinned boy before someone else snatches him up.

Unfortunately, before Harry can make it more than halfway across the dance floor, he runs into one of Niall’s fellow pledges.

“Oh, thank _god,”_ the other boy breathes. “You’re Harry, right? Niall’s roommate?”

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly.

“He’s in bad shape,” the boy - Sam? - says. “I’ve been trying to find you so you can take him home.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Does he need - is he okay?”

Maybe-Sam nods. “Yeah, he just needs to sleep it off, you know?”

“Right,” says Harry, letting maybe-Sam lead him off the dance floor as he curses the fact that he didn’t make it to Luke in time.

When maybe-Sam and Harry get to the group that’s gathered around Niall in the bathroom, though, Harry is selfishly pleased to note that Luke is among the people trying to take care of his roommate.

“I got his roommate,” maybe-Sam tells the group.

“Oh, thank god,” the guy rubbing Niall’s back says.

Niall is crouched over a toilet in the second-floor communal bathroom, retching every couple of seconds even though nothing’s coming out.

“Oh, you did come back,” Luke says, looking at Harry as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “While you were gone, your roommate decided to do two thirty-second keg stands in a row.”

“Holy shit,” Harry groans. “Is he - that’s not gonna affect his chances with the frat, is it? He really wants-”

“No, no, not at all,” the guy rubbing Niall’s back says. “Anyone who can draw that much of a crowd doing two keg stands in a row’s gonna have no problem getting a bid, even if they _aren’t_ a legacy.”

“Good,” says Harry. He glances over at Luke and swallows hard. “Luke, I’m - I’m s-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke says with a smile. “We can just - you’ll be at the next party, right?”

Harry blinks slowly. “I guess I can be. When is it?”

“Next Saturday.”

“I’ll go if you’ll go,” Harry offers, remembering how much fun he’d had dancing with Luke before the phone call had interrupted him.

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and blushes as Luke’s smile widens. The moment’s interrupted, though, when Niall gives another heave and retches into the toilet.

“Alright, let’s see if we can get him settled, then he’s yours to take home,” maybe-Sam says to Harry. “Make sure he drinks some water before he goes to sleep, because he won’t want to get his bid tomorrow completely hungover.”

xxx

True to the word of random drunk people, Niall gets a bid to Sigma Mu the very next evening.

It's almost comical - even at six at night, Niall’s still in his pajamas and rubbing sleep out of his eyes when he goes to answer the door, and there are four guys in sportcoats and pressed slacks waiting for him on the other side.

Harry’s sitting at his desk trying to plan an essay on Crime and Punishment, and he tries and fails to hold in his laughter as the frat guys launch into some old-sounding drinking song in perfect four-part harmony while Niall just stands there like he’s seen a ghost. They pull him into a hug afterward, pressing an envelope into his hand before swiftly departing down the hall, presumably to deliver more bids.

“See you tonight!” one of them calls over his shoulder as the door to their room swings closed.

Harry sees considerably less of Niall that whole week, except at band practice. Even though they live together, Harry’s reasonably sure Niall doesn’t spend a single night in his own bed for the entire week, and he only sees him in the mornings when he pops into their room to grab a change of clothes and brush his teeth. It’s something that Liam calls ‘Hell Week,’ which sounds very ominous, but although Niall’s completely exhausted, he also seems happy, almost giddy.

Frats are weird.

By the time Friday rolls around, Harry’s almost excited for the four-hour bus ride that will allow him to spend some time with the roommate he hasn’t really talked to for almost two weeks now. He’s texted Louis about it a few times throughout the week - they text almost all the time now, actually - and Louis always responds with, **_‘i know its weird but its one of those fragile masculinity things they have to do to feel cool. u need to show him extra support during this tragic time.’_**

At four in the afternoon, the marching band meets at their normal practice field, except this time there are five coach buses waiting for them and everyone has to lug their instruments, uniform, and an overnight bag up to the field with them. Even though he’s heard horror stories about how rude the fans are at Jackson University, Harry can’t help but feel excited that they get to travel somewhere with the football team and show their support in an environment where the team needs it the most.

Plus there’s the whole staying overnight in a hotel with all of his favorite college friends thing. That’s pretty fucking awesome.

He sees Liam over by Bus 2, and crosses his fingers that the mellophones get assigned to the same bus as the low brass so he can hang out with Niall. Once Harry gets over there, he reads the sign on the side of the bus and sees that his prayers have been answered - Bus 2 is for mellophones, baritones, sousaphones, and the drumline.

“Hey, Harry,” Liam greets him. He’s seemed tired too this week, though not nearly as much as Niall. “Go ahead and put all your stuff under the bus, then grab a seat.”

He opens a hatch near the bottom of the bus’s frame to reveal a large storage space that’s already piled high with instruments and uniform bags. Harry adds his own to the mix, then carries his overnight bag up onto the bus, looking around to see if Niall’s there yet. He isn’t, so Harry grabs an open row right behind Zayn, knowing that Liam’s going to be sitting there as well.

The students already on the bus are mostly chattering excitedly or trying to get in a nap; some have brought neck pillows, which would’ve been a _really_ smart thing to do, but it’s too late for Harry now. He has a sweatshirt that he can use as a pillow if need be.

Harry clears his throat, which seems to tear Zayn’s attention off of the book he’s reading and causes him to look over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey man,” Zayn says with a smile. His face is freshly shaven, free of the stubble he’d been sporting for the past week as per official marching band rules. “What’s up?”

“Not much, just wishing I brought a pillow,” Harry offers.

Zayn chuckles. “Some people’s shoulders work just as well. Who’re you planning on sitting with?”

“Niall.”

“Oh,” Zayn makes a face. “He seems kinda bony. But, like, I guess you gotta make do with what you have.”

Harry laughs. “What’re you reading?”

“Chaucer.” Zayn holds up his thick book, which reads, _The Collected Works of Geoffrey Chaucer._ “It’s for a lit class on dream theory.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It is, and the worst part is that it’s written in Middle English, so we kinda have to translate it as we go and it’s mostly guesswork,” says Zayn.

“Jesus,” Harry laughs. “That must take a while.”

“It does, which is why I’m trying to get as much done as I can before we start moving,” Zayn explains. “I don’t get, like, actively motion _sick,_ but I always get nauseous if I read in a car or a bus.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you alone, then,” Harry says quickly.

“Aw, it’s no problem,” Zayn says with a smile. “You can only do so much reading about thinly-veiled phallic references before you wanna start bashing your own head in.”

Liam joins them a moment later, smiling warmly as he looks between the two of them. “Aren’t you glad you aren’t bus captain, babe?”

Zayn snorts. “Definitely. Aiden’s already running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“Poor guy,” Liam agrees. “Lucky it’s not too long of a drive.”

“Alright, losers, welcome to hell!” Matt crows as he steps onto the bus.

Zayn sighs. “It’s about to get a lot longer.”

“At least Higgins isn’t letting them pass out the bandcest chart this year,” says Liam.

“Bandcest chart?” Harry asks.

“It’s something the seniors make every year,” Liam explains, “and it’s… like… basically it’s kind of a flowchart of who everyone in band has hooked up with. And a lot of the lines usually cross and overlap because no one in this band can keep it in their pants, apparently.”

“Last year they switched it up and made a fill-it-in-yourself version, like a game, and whoever finished the chart first correctly got a fifth of Jaeger as a prize,” says Zayn. “I think that’s what finally caused Higgins to ban it.”

Harry frowns. “But how do they… how do they, like, know who’s hooked up with who? It’s not like a couple seniors can know everything.”

“You’d be surprised,” laughs Liam. “Plus the seniors collaborate and ask around for info where they can.”

Harry gulps.

“They’re always really proud of it,” Zayn says, oblivious to Harry’s discomfort. “It’s like the culmination of their time in band or something. It’s crazy.”

Niall pops onto the bus a moment later, and Harry’s so happy to see him that he momentarily forgets about the bandcest chart. He’s wearing a Sig Mu sweatshirt and has bags under his eyes, but he looks happy like he has all week.

“Hey, man,” he mumbles as he slides in next to Harry. “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good.”

They talk for a bit about Niall’s ‘hell week’ experiences (well, the ones he’s _allowed_ to talk about) while the rest of the bus fills up with people, and about five minutes later, Aiden stands up at the front of the bus and waves his arms for silence.

“Alright, everyone, I’m Bus 2’s captain this year and I’ll be taking attendance every time this bus goes anywhere so we don’t leave anyone behind,” he yells. “It’s really important that I have absolute silence for this and you guys take it seriously, that way it’ll get done quicker and we can be on our way. Alright, let’s start with the mellos. Camila?”

“Here,” Camila yells from the back of the bus.

After everyone seems to be present and accounted for, Aiden says he’ll text Dr. Higgins that Bus 2 is good to go. A few minutes later, the bus rumbles to a start, which must mean that every other bus has complete attendance as well.

Almost as soon as the bus lurches into motion, Harry’s phone vibrates with an email notification. As he pulls it out to check what it is, he notices that everyone else on the bus is doing the same thing.

He hears Liam say, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Matt,” just before he opens his lockscreen to find an email titled “Bandcest 2k15.”

“Hey, Higgins said we couldn’t print it out this year, so I’m just using other means,” Matt yells from the front of the bus next to Aiden.

Harry’s stomach feels like it plummets into his feet, and he wonders if this is what motion sickness feels like. He doesn’t want to open the attachment but he feels incapable of resisting, like he _has_ to make this news known to him at some point and the sooner he rips the band-aid off the better.

Excited murmuring has taken over the entire bus as more and more people start opening the attachment, and next to him Niall mutters, “I really hope they don’t know what I think they know.”

“The one good thing about this is that it embarrasses just about everyone, so it’s an equal playing field,” Liam turns around to tell them.

“Yeah, but you guys are in a relationship, so how could you be embarrassed?” Niall shoots back.

Harry finally swallows hard and clicks the attachment to open it. As it’s loading, Zayn says, “Me, Liam, and Louis are in a triangle on here. And we still all hang out all the time. And Liam and I are dating. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Wait, Harry hadn’t known that Louis hooked up with _Liam,_ too. His stomach sinks as the attachment finally loads and the flowchart of “bandcest” is spread out before him in all its glory.  
He looks for his own name first on instinct - to see if it’s even _on_ there, because he isn’t sure what the seniors in band consider “hooking up” and all he and Louis have really done is make out in front of his dorm. Harry’s on there, though - he sees his name in a little bubble with only one line coming out of it, connected to Louis’s bubble, which has-

-substantially more lines coming out of it.

Seven, to be exact.

Niall’s swearing next to him - Harry’ll have to figure out what that’s about later, because right now all he can concentrate on is Louis’s name, and the ugly, caustic feeling of jealousy that’s making his stomach practically cramp. He sees the aforementioned triangle that Louis, Zayn, and Liam are in, so that’s two of the lines accounted for, and the one connected to Harry’s name is the third one, so he swallows bile and looks to see what the other four names are.

The first name he sees is Aiden’s, which is completely unexpected.

“Wait a second, I thought Aiden was straight,” he can’t help but say out loud.

Zayn snorts. “He ‘is,’” he says, putting air quotes around the second word. “One time he got really drunk and wanted to see what it was like with a guy, though, and Lou was equally drunk so he volunteered.”

“Apparently Aiden was really into it, but he’s ‘straight,’ so he didn’t want to make a habit of it,” Liam adds, completely unnecessarily.

Harry doesn’t respond to that, his eyes feeling like they’re resisting movement as he shifts them on to the next name. Jaymi.

Well, that’s less of a surprise. He’d known Jaymi was gay, and he found out earlier in the year that Jaymi’s had a long-term boyfriend for about two years now, so it obviously isn’t still a thing. Harry relaxes a bit more, hoping the other two names are just as benign.

He looks at the next one, and-

_Nick?_

Nick the grad student?

“Is this Nick as in the grad student?” Harry asks Liam, pointing at Nick’s bubble, which has several other lines attached to it as well.

“Yeah, ‘cause you have to remember, before he was a grad student he was just a band kid like anyone else,” Liam explains. “And again, band kids have a real hard time keeping it in their pants.”

“When me and Lou first started school here he _hated_ Nick,” says Zayn. “He was his section leader and Louis just has a hard time listening to just about anyone, and Nick hated him right back until one time they got really drunk at a party and-”

“I don’t think Harry wants to hear the full story, babe,” Liam cuts him off. “Look at him.”

Zayn turns around and raises his eyebrows when he sees Harry’s face; Harry must not be doing so well at hiding the fact that he feels like he might throw up. “Well geez, Harry, the Nick thing isn’t _nearly_ as weird as the Greg thing. You gotta pick your battles.”

Wait a second, the _Greg_ thing?

“Yeah, that was weird,” Liam agrees, seemingly forgetting his own rule of _not talking about this stuff in front of Harry._ Harry glances down and, sure enough, Greg is the last name surrounding Louis’s bubble. “And like, maybe not allowed?”

“Yeah, but Greg’s a pretty nice guy,” Zayn says. “He wasn’t being, like, predatory or anything.”

“I didn’t mean it _that_ way, babe, Greg doesn’t have a mean bone in his body,” says Liam. “I just - technically, he’s a teaching assistant, and Lou was just a sophomore when they-”

“Guys,” Harry pleads, a whining tone seeping into his voice.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Liam says, turning back to his phone. “I’ll just - sorry, we can stop talking about - oh my _god,_ Niall, you hooked up with _Jade?”_

“Shut up,” Niall says at the same time as Jade, who’s sitting a few rows back.

Harry’s floored enough to temporarily forget about the heartache that’s making his whole body sore - until thirty minutes later, when everyone’s mostly calmed down about the chart and has either started doing homework or fallen asleep.

 _Now_ he has nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

It’s not like he really has the right to be upset about any of this, and he’d _known_ that there had definitely been some history where Louis was involved - hell, Lou practically told Harry himself on that drunk phone call last weekend. He’s not even sure if he’s jealous or just _sad,_ sad that he might really be “wasting” his first semester of college by pining after one person instead of playing the field.

It’s not fair to think that Louis clearly had _no_ problem hooking up with various people until Harry showed interest in him, because this semester’s different and Louis has a lot more on his plate. The weirdest thing is that all of these people are still in band, still around, just going about their lives like they haven’t seen what Louis looks like when he comes. Harry is so jealous it _hurts._

xxx

That aching feeling stays with him throughout the entire bus ride, and even when they finally arrive at their hotel in Davenport, Harry isn’t excited like the rest of the freshman seem to be. He really wishes he was back in Brighton snuggled underneath his own covers, actually - the prospect of staying in a hotel and partying with the band doesn’t seem very appealing right now.

He and George line up together to get their room keys, and on the elevator ride up there with their stuff, George says, “Matt told me his and Aiden’s room is next to Stan and Andy’s room, so they’re thinking of opening that little adjoining door thing and having a big party. D’you wanna go?”

Harry sighs. “I don’t know, I’m - I’m kind of in the mood to just watch a movie, actually. Were you thinking of going?”

“I mean, it _sounds_ like fun, but I don’t want to be hungover for the game tomorrow,” says George. “We have to get up at six, and if we go to the party there’s no _way_ we’re getting in bed before two.”

“Mmm, true,” Harry muses. “Well, if you’re up for staying in and finding some sappy Lifetime movie to cry over, that’s cool with me. I’ll text Niall and see if he wants to give his liver a rest for a night.”

Niall is, it turns out, _very_ interested in the prospect of giving his liver a rest for one night, so he comes over after getting settled and the three of them flip channels until they settle on _The Dark Knight Rises._ Before he gets too comfortable, Harry makes sure to set his alarm for 6:00 am, and hopes that when he wakes up tomorrow, he won’t ache as much.

xxx

When his alarm goes off the next morning, Harry wakes up feeling even _worse,_ if that’s possible.

His sleep had been somewhat restful, free of alcohol-induced fatigue but filled with dreams of Louis laughing at him and shutting his bedroom door in Harry’s face as he took other boys to bed. He wakes up feeling on the verge of tears, in need of a good cathartic cry to get all these weird feelings out - but there’s no time, because he and George have to get ready for the day, packing their overnight bags back up and popping downstairs for the complimentary buffet breakfast before getting fully dressed.

A lot of people at the buffet look hungover - Stan’s a bit green in the face - and everyone looks similarly tired. Harry catches Louis’s eye completely by accident, and the other boy gives him a tired smile and a little wave. Harry waves back, hating the way his stomach flutters at how soft and mussed Louis’s hair looks in the morning, _hating_ the way he’s looking at Louis differently now when he _knows_ he has no right to.

Fuck.

After breakfast, it’s a mad scramble to get dressed in uniform and make sure neither Harry nor George is leaving anything behind in their hotel room, and then they’re heading downstairs to the lobby, out to the buses to load their stuff back up. Their hotel is the “official” Lincoln hotel for this game, but Harry still sees people decked out in Jackson University’s yellow and black colors. He feels like a target in his navy uniform, shiny gold sash across the front provoking faint jeers from the Jackson fans as he and George walk across the lobby.

Once they’re all on the bus and Aiden takes attendance, their caravan starts the journey to the Jackson stadium, passing scores of people in yellow and black both tailgating and walking toward the stadium as well. Harry wonders if he would feel as nervous and uncomfortable if he wasn’t feeling like such an asshole for being upset at Louis, but everyone else on the bus looks similarly apprehensive as they stare out the window at the opposing team’s fans. It must be an away trip thing.

They park and warm up before marching toward the stadium in official parade formation, following a path that takes them by a few Lincoln tailgates but mostly Jackson ones, full of people who boo them as they pass and some who even throw garbage at them. Harry narrowly dodges a crumpled-up piece of tinfoil and keeps on marching, feeling even worse by the minute. He doesn’t think he’s ever missed his extra-long twin dorm bed more.

Once they get into the stadium, they play a pregame show for the handful of fans gathered in the stadium. The crowd grows as they perform, and it’s an unreceptive one, barely clapping after the patriotic medley and outright booing when they play their own fight song. Jackson’s band, who follows them, gets a standing ovation for every song they play.

Harry thinks he does a pretty good job of repressing the entire away game, actually. It doesn’t go well - the home crowd for Jackson is mean and _loud,_ the stadium is huge and overwhelmingly black and yellow, and one of Lincoln’s wide receivers gets injured on only the second play, making Liam swear quietly in the stands next to Harry. They can’t get anything going offensively and their defense is overworked and tired from constantly being on the field, so their team basically collapses during the second half, letting Jackson win 30-10.

Harry feels like crying again, except he has no idea what he’s even specifically sad about - he feels like there are a lot of options at this point. The band trudges back to their buses as Jackson fans tailgating after the game laugh at them, getting increasingly drunk as they shotgun beers in celebration.

“Sorry that was your first away game experience,” Liam tells Harry as they pack their stuff under the bus.

Harry can’t even mount a response, shrugging and making a noncommittal sound before getting on the bus and trying to fall asleep as fast as possible.

xxx

The next time he stirs, it’s because Niall’s shaking him awake and telling him they’re back in Brighton.

“D’you wanna get something for dinner? It’s almost seven,” he asks Harry.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replies. He feels a little bit better after sleeping the whole way back - he can kind of pretend that disaster of a game didn’t just happen - but not much. “What are you doing afterward?”

“Sig Mu’s having a big party tonight,” says Niall. “Was thinking of going there first and then maybe heading to the band house afterward if there’s time. Wanna come with?”

Harry remembers that it’s Saturday, remembers _Luke._ He told Luke he would go to the party tonight. If Luke even remembers, that is.

Then, because his brain is apparently entirely fucking incapable of going thirty seconds without thinking about Louis, he realizes that there are probably other people Louis has hooked up with that aren’t in band and weren’t on that chart. Who _knows_ how many, and - that’s when he realizes that maybe hooking up with someone else will get rid of this weird jealous feeling.

“Yeah, definitely, I’ll come with,” he tells Niall.

The aching feeling lifts a little.

xxx

As Harry and Niall get ready for the night and take a shot in their dorm room, his phone buzzes with a text from Louis.

**_‘band party tonight! come drink away the pain of today’s game lol. are u coming?’_ **

Harry sighs and texts, **_‘maybe later in the night.’_**

The responses come a few seconds later: **_‘:(’_**

**_‘you didn’t come to the last one :(’_ **

**_‘i feel like we havent actually talked in weeks’_ **

Harry frowns and, feeling spiteful, texts back, **_‘we talked last week and you told me to use my freshman year to be a slut, so.’_**

That doesn’t get a response. He swallows the bitter feeling on his tongue and continues getting ready for the Sig Mu party.

xxx

Luke is easy to spot at the party, because he’s one of the tallest people there. Harry’s five shots in already thanks to Niall and his friends, and he mumbles something about ‘swimmer’s build’ to Niall before slinking over to Luke and wrapping his hands around the other boy’s waist from behind.

Luke turns around and looks pleasantly surprised to see him. “Harry! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry,” Harry slurs, giggling a little. He just wants this feeling in his chest to go _away,_ and alcohol hasn’t helped with that so far. “We got back late from Jackson.”

“Oh my god, I forgot the band was going to that,” Luke says with wide eyes. Harry presses a little closer. “I watched it on TV and - it wasn’t pretty, man.”

“God, you’re telling me,” Harry laughs. “I just wanna - forget. Wanna forget.”

Luke smirks, his beautiful full mouth curving to one side. “Dancing might help with that, you know.”

Whoever’s DJing this party has a much dirtier mind than whoever’d been doing it last week - there’s lots of The Weeknd remixes floating around the packed basement, and Harry’s starting to tingle in anticipation as they dance, their movements getting dirtier as the night goes on and they drink more. Even with the giddy feeling that’s rolling over him, that acute ache in his ribcage is still there, though, so Harry decides he needs to take this a little further.

They’re currently dancing with Harry’s back pressed to Luke’s chest, Luke’s hands on his hips and fingertips curled underneath his shirt, but Harry turns around so he’s facing the other boy and, before he can chicken out, pulls his face close and kisses him soundly on the lips. Luke makes a surprised noise but gets with the program immediately, cupping Harry’s face in his hands and sucking on his lower lip as the bass pounds in their ears.

The combination of being drunk and upset and horny seems to really be taking its toll on Harry’s brain, because the next thing he knows they’re making out in a dimly-lit hallway, and the pounding bass of the dancefloor is just a distant hum beneath their feet. Harry isn’t sure how much time has passed but his lips feel sore and swollen in a really nice way, but he still _can’t shake that fucking feeling_ and it’s driving him crazy, making him press his tongue against Louis’s as Louis swallows his hungry little noises.

Wait - _fuck._ This is _Luke._

Suddenly Harry feels like crying, because this isn’t helping at _all,_ imagining he’s doing this with Louis. God, he’s fucked up. He lets it continue, though, lets Luke fumble open a random door and drag them both inside until they’re swallowed in darkness and Harry can let the guilt consume him and pretend he’s kissing Louis.

“You’re so hot,” Luke mumbles, and his voice is all - wrong, too deep, not raspy enough, and Harry whines against his mouth in a way Luke clearly interprets as pleasure but what’s really just distress.

Harry’s hard, but it’s more of a reflex than anything else, feeling the other boy against him like this - what the fuck is _wrong_ with him, Luke is a _gorgeous_ specimen and this was supposed to make him feel _better,_ not _worse_. Suddenly he just wants this to be over more than anything in the world, and Harry’s nothing if not polite, so he drops to his knees and fumbles at the zipper to Luke’s jeans as the other boy swears and strokes a hand over his cheek.

His cock is gorgeous, long and cut, and Harry fumbles it into his mouth, sinking down on it and trying to push thoughts of Louis out of his head. Luke’s hands make their way into his hair, gentle but insistent, and Harry bobs his head fast, twirling his tongue in a manner that probably wouldn’t be as clumsy if he weren’t drunk as fuck.

He presses closer, pulling out every trick he knows to get Luke close, _fast,_ and chokes a couple times but ignores it, lets his body go on autopilot as he imagines that it’s Louis’s cock he’s choking on, as he imagines that it’s _Louis_ that wants him to do this. That Louis would ever want him to do this.

Louis doesn’t want him to do this, but he clearly had no problem letting at least six other people do this who he still talks to every day.

Luke pulls out, his voice concerned, and at first Harry thinks he’s just worried about going too deep in his throat - until he realizes that the tears on his cheeks are running down fast and hard and he’s fucking _crying_ and his ears are ringing-

“Harry, Harry - what’s wrong, baby? Are you - did I hurt you? I didn’t-”

“No, n-no,” Harry stammers, “you’re fine, I’m f-fine, let’s keep g-going-”

“We’re not gonna keep going, you idiot, you’re crying,” Luke says.

Harry just keeps saying he’s sorry, over and over, because he _is_ and he hates himself for getting into this situation and that just makes him cry harder, and once Luke’s tucked himself away he crouches down and says, “I - shit, I didn’t realize you were this drunk, Harry, I wouldn’t have brought you up here. I think we need to get you home.”

Suddenly that sounds like the worst prospect _imaginable,_ Harry’s emotions putting him through whiplash over and over as he staggers to his feet, leaning heavily on Luke for balance. “I can’t - don’t wanna go home,” he slurs, and it’s true - the concept of going to bed alone in his own room with only his awful drunk thoughts for company makes him wants to cry all over again. “I just - need to go to my friend’s house, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to-”

“I’m not letting you walk there alone,” Luke says firmly.

“I’ll get Niall,” Harry insists. “I - _god,_ I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry-”

He stumbles out of the room, unsure if Luke’s following him or not, and once he gets to the first floor to grab his coat, he realizes that Luke’s still making his way down the stairs. He calls up a few more “I’m sorry”s over his shoulder, wondering if he’ll ever be able to set foot in this stupid frat house again, and takes off out the front door by himself.

He loses track of time as he wanders around Brighton, tears still streaming down his cheeks. A few people stop him and ask him if he’s alright, if he’s been hurt, but Harry tells them he’s fine, sniffling and continuing on as he tries to remember how to get to Louis’s house with his booze-addled brain. Eventually he doesn’t recognize _any_ of his surroundings and gives up and calls Louis, crying harder when he thinks about how pathetic he’s being.

“Hello?” Louis picks up.

“Louis,” Harry sniffles.

Louis seems to comprehend his mood immediately. “Harry, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry slurs miserably. “I’m trying to - find your house, but I - can’t, I _can’t,_ I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t apologize, babe,” says Louis. “Can you find some street signs? How much have you had to drink?”

“Haven’t even - had that much,” Harry insists as he walks to the nearest intersection and rattles off the street names to Louis.

“Jesus Christ, how did you get all the way down there?” Louis asks. “Alright, you’re gonna have to turn right and walk north for a while, do you want me to meet you halfway?”

“No,” Harry says immediately after he turns right. “N-no, you just - you stay at your party, I’m sorry, I don’t want to b-bother you.”

“Eh, the party’s mostly over anyway,” says Louis. “Everyone seemed pretty tired after the away trip, so there’s just a couple of us downstairs playing Fifa.”

Oh _no,_ there isn’t even a party anymore and Harry’s gone and interrupted Louis spending time with his friends- _fuck-_

“Harry, Harry, calm down,” Louis urges over the phone. Harry must be doing that thing where he says all his thoughts out loud. “Nothing’s wrong, you aren’t bothering me. I just want to make sure you’re safe here, alright? You’re sleeping here tonight, it’s much closer to where you are than your dorm.”

Harry starts crying again, unsure why Louis is being so nice to him when he _clearly_ isn’t attracted to him. Louis makes him stay on the phone until he gets to the band house, at which point Louis hangs up and meets him at the front door.

“Hey there - _hey,_ hi,” Louis says gently as Harry collapses against him and starts sobbing against his shirt.

He guides Harry into the living room, where his housemates are clustered around the television but looking up in concern.

“What happened?” Zayn asks, his eyes wide.

Harry’s hysterical and nearly unintelligible at this point, even to himself, slurring stuff about “Just wanting - someone to - want me” and how sorry he is. Louis sits him down next to Perrie, who puts her arms around his shoulders.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’m gonna go get you some water,” Louis says.

Harry hiccups and nods, sniffling and making a broken noise as more tears spill from his eyes.

“Guys, stop staring at him,” Perrie snaps. “He’s just having a drunk cry.”

“Is he _hurt,_ though?” Jaymi asks.

“Not that I’ve been told,” Louis says, coming back into the room and handing Harry a glass of water.

“Speaking as someone who drunk cries a lot, the best thing for him right now is sleep,” Perrie says, rubbing Harry’s back. “I don’t generally stop drunk crying until I’m unconscious.”

“No need to tell us that,” Eleanor snorts. Perrie flips her off and Harry laughs through his tears.

Louis takes a seat on the couch on Harry’s other side, snaking an arm protectively around his waist and telling him it’s alright, over and over, in response to Harry repeatedly apologizing.

Eventually, Harry falls asleep on Louis’s shoulder, with Perrie still rubbing his back and the familiar noises of Fifa in the background, feeling safe and warm and hugely upset at himself for ever thinking that something could be better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment to let me know what you thought, if you'd like :)


	6. an outline of the rest of the story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter details what might have been, had I not lost my 1D muse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I couldn't finish this story with the detail it, and you my wonderful readers, deserved. I delayed a while, hoping that my 1D muse would return, but I'm forced to admit at this point that it seems like it's gone for good, or at least for the foreseeable future. Having this fic remain unfinished would have disappointed me and, I'm sure, some of you, so here is an outline of what I had planned for the rest of the fic.
> 
> I want to thank all of my One Direction readers over the years for being wonderful, encouraging, and supportive. It was a wonderful three years of writing for you all and I'm so glad we got to share in the fun of the fandom as time went on. I wish you guys the best, wherever you end up and whatever you end up doing in life!
> 
> Love,
> 
> Emma

**Chapter 6**

Harry wakes up on Louis’s couch the next morning and panics as the memories of the drunken night before come rushing back to him. He quickly stumbles upright, goes to the bathroom, and sneaks out of the house before any of the rest of its occupants wake up. Back at his dorm, he brushes his teeth, changes his clothes, dodges Niall’s questions, and falls into his bed to pass back out.

Some time later, there’s a knock on his door; Niall is out doing frat stuff, so Harry isn’t sure who it could be. He answers the door and discovers that it’s Louis, who grew worried after (passed out) Harry wasn’t answering his texts or calls, so he took it upon himself to check on him personally. It’s a little awkward, especially once Louis brings up the nature of Harry’s drunken mumblings the night before; Harry figures that since he already completely embarrassed himself, he might as well bite the bullet and explain that he got insecure about the fact that Louis doesn’t seem to be attracted to him, especially since Harry discovered how many other people in the band he’s hooked up with. Of course, he’s being an idiot, and Louis tries to explain this with words but then discovers that kisses work just as well. Nothing sexual happens, but it’s clear they’re both holding back a lot, and Harry is embarrassed but feels much better.

The two of them go back to regularly texting, and Harry’s focus shifts to the week ahead – it’s Homecoming week, which means the band has to play in a parade and pep rally on Friday and a well-attended football game on Saturday. Homecoming draws alumni and parents of students alike to the area all weekend, and Harry gets to meet Zayn’s parents and younger sisters, who drive up from the south side for the game. Zayn’s family really seems to enjoy meeting all of his friends, but it isn’t lost on Harry that they’re all pretending Liam is just another one of Zayn’s friends. Zayn seems used to it, Liam seems slightly put off by it, and there’s nothing to do but try to enjoy the weekend all the same.

The band party that’s thrown after Lincoln wins their homecoming football game is the wildest one Harry’s been to thus far. A lot of band alumni are in town and the younger ones come to the party – Harry gets to see Nick and Greg attend the party as well, bonding with alumni and doing shots with whoever’s around. He gets a drunken blessing from Nick to go after Louis, including something slurred about ass eating as the older man wanders away to go find his alumni friends. All in all, it’s a much more successful Saturday night than Harry had last weekend, even if he and Louis are still dancing around each other and barely say two words to each other the whole night. If Harry drunkenly complains about that to Niall as they’re walking home from the party, well, no one has to know.

 

**Chapter 7**

This next week is a bye week for the Lincoln football team, meaning that there’s no game on Saturday, so the marching band gets Friday practice off. Harry uses the week to catch up on all the schoolwork he’s been putting off, and it couldn’t have come at a better time – he has midterms on Thursday and Friday for Russian Lit and Spanish, respectively. By the time the weekend rolls around, he’s ready to let off some steam.

Because there’s no game on Saturday, the “band house” elects to hold a party on Friday night on principle, since they’re normally constrained to Saturday nights. It’s more of a relaxed party without all of the aggressive pregaming that normally accompanies marching band ragers, and Harry gets invited to the band house for a pre-party dinner of its occupants and their closest friends/significant others. After dinner Zayn rolls a couple of joints; though Harry’s never smoked weed before, he’s trying to shake off a stressful week and take his mind off of how much he wants Louis, who was sitting so close to him at dinner that their knees were touching.

As other band kids start arriving and the party picks up its pace, Harry discovers that weed makes him horny. Like, _really_ horny. He’s been warned about crossfading enough that he doesn’t drink very much, but he keeps having to hide the fact that he’s half-hard and it feels like a Herculean effort not to hump against Louis’s leg.

A small group of them leave the party every so often to smoke some more in Zayn’s room, and when Harry’s well and truly stoned and considering leaving just so he can rub one out in the privacy of his own dorm room, Louis decides he wants to teach Harry how to shotgun, and they go from sharing smoke to making out right on Zayn’s bedroom floor. Their friends hoot and holler at them – even Zayn seems to be alright with it, but it’s probably because he’s high as a kite himself – and eventually Louis drags Harry into his own bedroom and crowds him up against the door, kissing him senseless as he mutters about not being able to hold back any longer.

The night ends with Harry on his knees, head spinning as he practically chokes himself on Louis’s cock with how eager he is. He comes just before Louis does, with Louis’s hands in his hair and dick down his throat as he rubs himself through his jeans, and the two of them promptly pass out on Louis’s bed, floaty and exhausted.

(The next morning they wake up without an ounce of regret in either of their bodies. Louis decides that, since he already broke his no-involvement rule last night, he can afford to break it for the rest of the weekend as well; Saturday and Sunday devolve into a marathon of everything except penetrative sex, with the two of them stopping only to eat or shower occasionally. By the time Harry stumbles back to his dorm on Sunday night, he can’t feel his legs, can’t wipe the grin off his face, and can’t wait for the end of the semester when he’ll get to have this all the time.)

 

**Chapter 8**

Marching band practice continues on as usual for the next week, and a couple of the seniors announce that they’re organizing an “unofficial away trip,” which involves a large portion of the marching band traveling to an away game to attend as fans. It’s self-funded, but according to Louis, it’s the only chance any of them get to tailgate, since drinking in uniform is prohibited, and it’s always fun to meet rival fans. The seniors send out a google doc to gauge interest and organize cars – since it’s self-funded, it’s up to students with cars to drive everyone who’s interested. This particular away game is at Monroe University, which is in Minneapolis, about a seven-hour drive away. Harry signs up on the google doc and buys a ticket, waiting to see whose car he gets sorted into.

There’s a home game to deal with first, though, and an entirely new halftime routine to learn. The band executes the Beatles-themed show perfectly and the football team delivers as well, winning their sixth game of the season, which officially makes them bowl eligible. That means there’s a high likelihood of a postseason game somewhere warm during winter break, Liam explains to Harry – an all expenses paid vacation for the marching band, for all intents and purposes. Harry can’t believe this is his life.

His lucky streak continues when he learns that he’s been assigned to Louis’ car, which consists of Louis, Zayn, Liam, Niall, and himself, for the unofficial away trip a week later. It’s such a fun car ride, even though the five of them are constantly battling for the aux cord for their own country, rap, or R&B interests, that it flies by. Harry spends a good hour of the trip with his face bright red after Louis holds a finger to his lips and kisses him breathless against the car at a gas station, while the rest of their friends are inside buying snacks.

Liam has a friend from high school who goes to Monroe and is letting the five of them sleep over at his place, so they drop their stuff off there before heading to the pre-game tailgating by the stadium. Harry attends a football game drunk for the first time in his life and suddenly understands why everyone else has so much fun doing it at Lincoln, even though he wouldn’t change being in marching band for the world. Lincoln doesn’t play badly but Monroe is very good and they end up losing, but Harry’s buzzed and bundled up in Lincoln’s colors and in the middle of all of his friends, so he doesn’t mind that much. Lincoln’s band gets invited to Monroe’s band party that night, which happens to be at Liam’s friend’s house, so the fun continues into the night.

 

**Chapter 9**

The school year has progressed into November and it’s almost time for Family Weekend. Harry’s mom is flying out to visit for the weekend all the way from Portland, although his sister unfortunately couldn’t get away from Stanford. Louis’s entire family is planning on driving down from Waukegan to visit as well: his oldest sister, Lottie, is a senior in high school and is applying to Lincoln early decision with the hopes of getting in.

The marching band’s preparing a brand new halftime show for the Family Weekend football game, but Louis is barely able to attend any of the practices. Harry finds out mid-week that it’s because Louis is part of the family weekend musical that’s being performed. He’s a bit hurt that Louis didn’t tell him, but now all of the times Louis skipped off right after practice make more sense. Perrie’s in it as well, and both of them urge Harry to bring his mom to the show, even though he’s still a bit ticked off at Louis.

Harry’s mom arrives for family weekend on Friday afternoon and he reluctantly decides to take her to the Family Weekend musical, even though he has no idea what it is. People who attend the musical only find out what’s showing when they get the programs, and Harry and his mother are both shocked to find out that it’s a student production of Wicked. Perrie plays Glinda, one of the leading female roles, and Louis plays Fiyero, the lead male role. Harry can’t take his eyes off of Louis every second he’s on stage, and he realizes that the surprise is worth the bitterness he felt over Louis not telling him about the musical.

During intermission, Harry feels ready to burst with feelings, as cliché as that sounds, and he word-vomits everything to his mom, who’s very amused; after the show is over, Harry feels pretty desperate waiting by the stage door but he can’t help it. He rushes up to Louis as soon as the older boy emerges and kisses him square on the mouth, only to realize once they both come up for air that he’s just done that in front of both Louis’s mom and his own. Louis’s mom is as indulgent and amused as Harry’s is, and they insist that the four of them go out for late-night coffee and proceed to swap embarrassing mom stories with each other while Louis and Harry cover their faces and try to melt into the floor.

 

**Chapter 10**

Thanksgiving break for marching band members is short – barely 48 hours – because they have a home game on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Harry spends his in the dorms because it’s not worth flying back to Portland for such a short time, but he does get invited to a Thanksgiving meal at the band house, because some of its occupants are far from their families as well. It’s a fun potluck-style meal and he helps Jaymi cook the turkey and stuffing, to rave reviews from all of their friends.

Once everyone’s back in town, they play the Thanksgiving weekend game, which is the last game of the season. Lincoln loses that one, but their overall record ends up being 8-4, which Louis says means they should be able to get into a decent bowl game. After Thanksgiving “break,” there’s only one more week of classes left and then finals week.

Harry barely sees Louis at all during finals week because the older boy is taking so many classes for his program, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that because he has his own finals to take. It’s much more intense than he remembers final exams being in high school and he gets maybe four hours of sleep a night (and learns to appreciate coffee much, much more), but he finally gets through it, even though Niall has to wake him up so he doesn’t miss his last 9am final, which is on a Thursday.

Harry’s flight home leaves Thursday evening – he wants to soak up as much of winter break as possible at home before the bowl game is announced – but Louis’s last final isn’t until Friday afternoon, meaning that he doesn’t get to see Louis before he leaves. He sends him a couple of encouraging “good luck” texts and a bunch of cute emojis and gets a tired thumbs-up selfie from Louis in response, which Harry immediately saves to his phone even though he’s embarrassed about it.

Once winter break starts, the bowl game schedule is announced, and Lincoln set to play the Palm Bowl in Florida on December 31. As instructed by Dr. Higgins in an email to the whole band, Harry immediately books his flight back to Lincoln for December 28 so that the whole band can fly to Florida together on the 29th. Now he has a couple of weeks to enjoy his break at home in Portland; maybe his favorite part of the break, however, is the night of December 23, when Louis turns 21 at midnight. They’ve been texting the entire break, of course, with some of the messages veering into very suggestive territory, and of course Harry wishes Louis a happy early birthday and knows he’s going out with Zayn and friends that night to celebrate. What he’s not prepared for is a drunk phone call from Louis after midnight – turns out they went into Boystown in Chicago to celebrate, and Louis is barely coherent but sounds like he’s having a great time. He keeps telling Harry how much he misses him, how much he can’t wait to see him in a week, and Harry can’t keep the smile off of his face. Zayn eventually wrangles the phone away from Louis and tells Harry they’ll see him next week, and they hang up after he promises Harry he’ll take care of Louis.

 

**Chapter 11**

On December 28th, all the band kids fly back to Lincoln, their suitcases packed for a four-day vacation in Florida. They have a quick rehearsal – Dr. Higgins has decided to go with one of their older halftime shows, so they need a refresher course, plus they need to restructure their pregame so it fits inside the time constraints provided by the Palm Bowl. Once rehearsal lets out, they have the rest of the night to themselves, and Harry is happily reunited with his friends and, more importantly, Louis, who informs him that he passed all of his classes with grades even better than he’d hoped for. This means that Louis can relax a little bit next semester, so he’s finally comfortable making things official with Harry.

The next day the band wakes up at 6am and boards a coach bus headed for O’Hare Airport, where they share a private chartered flight with members of Lincoln’s athletic department. They touch down in Florida and head to their hotel; Harry had signed up to room with Liam and Louis with Zayn so that if things were going well, they could just switch roommates. Harry feels overwhelmed and jittery (in a good way) at the prospect of sharing a room with Louis for three nights, but they can’t act on anything because they have a pretty full afternoon of rehearsals ahead of them.

Later that night, though, the band has free time all to themselves, and Harry and Louis grab dinner with their friends before retreating to their hotel room. Once the door closes they can’t keep their hands off of each other, a full semester of sexual frustration and tension pouring out of them as they kiss hungrily and undress each other with greedy hands. Knowing that they have a light rehearsal schedule tomorrow – and that Louis doesn’t want to bottom until after he’s performed all of his drum major leaps on New Year’s Eve – Harry eagerly bottoms for their first time, which is slow and sweet in contrast to the frantic way they began. They fall asleep curled against each other, naked underneath the soft hotel sheets.

The next day is a little bit of marching band practice and a lot of time at the beach, and it’s obvious to all of their friends that they’ve finally gotten physical because Harry and Louis can’t keep the stupid smiles off of their faces.

Finally the day of the Palm Bowl arrives and Lincoln faces off against the University of Tennessee. Liam’s nervous about the game, just because Tennessee’s a good team in a fantastic league, and Harry finds out it’s for good reason once the game starts – Tennessee gets two touchdowns on their first two drives. Lincoln pushes back with a touchdown and a field goal during the second quarter, though, and the two teams trade points as the game goes on. It’s a nailbiter, down to the final seconds – if Lincoln can kick a field goal from 40 yards out, they win by two, and the whole stadium holds their breath. The field goal is good, and Lincoln wins by two points, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever screamed louder in his life.

By the time the game’s over it’s almost 10pm, so everyone in the marching band quickly showers and changes then heads down to the hotel restaurant for a New Year’s Eve party. Harry and Louis share a kiss right when the clock strikes midnight then sneak off from the group and return to their room, where Louis shoves Harry onto the bed and rides him hard after they’ve shared half a bottle of their own private champagne. Harry comes harder than he ever has, stars in his eyes and Louis all around him and happiness racing through his veins.

As they drift off together, Harry giggles sleepily and pulls Louis closer; if that was just what his _first_ semester of college was like, he can’t wait for the rest of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I'm still writing fic, just not 1D, so if you're into Malec, Evanstan, or Moreid, check out my other stories and keep an eye out for updates!
> 
> P.P.S. Most of my 1D fics are now locked on ao3 so you need an account to view them! I didn't delete anything and everything's still there, you just need to sign in!


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